Having got my sleeping schedule out-of-synch with most of the world around me, I slept from early Monday after-noon into Monday night. One of my bedroom windows, which (from a third floor) faces onto the street, was open.

At some point, I caught a bit of conversation between a young woman and young man as they walked past. She, crying, was pregnant. And, from his tone and from what he said, it seemed that the young man loved her, but was far, far too weak to handle the situation well.

Neither the Woman of Interest nor I would ordinarily wish to live forever, whether it be on Earth or on the other side of some Pearly Gates. But I posed a problem to her:

I have little doubt that, so long as it were kept in good health and otherwise fairly physically comfortable, the typical cat would choose not to die. A dog might additionally need friendly companionship, but then it too would not ever want to die.

I don't know whether the Woman of Interest knew where I intended to go with my hypothetical, but in any event her first question about the device was of who would take care of the Beet Weasel, and I offered that I would have a slightly larger device for her. So, now the question becomes one of whether one would allow one's companion animal to die in order that one might oneself have the freedom to die.