Two days ago; on my lap; 17 years old; after a long slow illness during most of which, with treatment, she didn’t know she was ill, and a rapid decline in her last couple of weeks. She went gently enough to go at home.
She survived her brother, The Sleek and Shiny Cat, by slightly over a year.
She was very shy of strangers, but not shy at all of me. The spot right next to my pillow is very empty, even though I woke up this morning to find her friend in it. He used to be the Young Cat, but I’ll need to find another nickname; at eight years old he’s now this household’s Senior Cat, though entirely lacking in Senior Cat behavior.
He, and the other two remaining Cats of This Household, aren’t lacking in purr, though; even though neither of them – or any other cat I ever met – purrs like she used to. But their purrs help.