Mouse (one of our two cats, good friend, and family member) has passed away just shy of 16 years old.
She was, in fact, a better friend than a cat. She lacked a few basic cat skills like catching mice and birds (total failure). She never mastered use of her claws, frequently getting stuck when jumping up on an ottoman.
As a friend she was stellar. She never bit or scratched anyone, was relentlessly friendly, ever affectionate, and forgave transgressions immediately. She was an enthusiastic conversationalist, delighting in taking turns speaking in our respective languages. Her purring was all out of proportion to her size.
Mouse was a consummate hedonist, spending all waking hours on the prowl for food, belly rubs, or noogies. As a prodigious producer of hair, she relished her brushings when Lori could, in one sitting, brush out enough hair to knit a kitten. We often spotted her gazing at her reflection in a window or mirror–we shared her opinion of her good looks.
She always assumed that if anyone was in, near, or walking through the kitchen, the only plausible purpose was to serve her food. She would relentlessly pace and exclaim her frustration at the staff’s inability to focus on this essential task. Food finally served, she could purr and munch simultaneously.
Her naps were long luxurious embraces with a splash of sunlight, a vacant warm lap, or a cozy cardboard box.
As part of the family she was loved and she loved us, and we all (mostly) overlooked our respective shortcomings as any beloved family members do.
Mouse was a sweet sweet friend, will be dearly missed, and will be the subject of fond reminiscences for years to come.