auntbijou | The naming of cats is a difficult matter...

The last of the Triplicats has passed. The biggest, sweetest, most loving Siamese cat you'd ever know, who loved his kids even before they were born, and had a purr like a cement mixer loaded with boulders, passed into the Summerland tonight. He was born into my hands twelve years ago, literally, and he died with me stroking him and talking to him. I'm going to miss him something awful. Who else is going to take care of me when my asthma is acting up? Who is going to check all the cabinets, cupboards, and closets, not to mention under all the beds, to make sure no monsters have snuck into the house while we weren't looking? Who is going to cuddle with the Impossible Son when he goes to bed and swat all the bad dreams away? Who is going to stalk me when I sit down and head bump me until I pet him, because he can't stand to see me sitting still? Who is going to cuddle up next to the Husbandly One while he watches his sports on TV? Who is going to listen to the Impertinent Daughter when she needs to talk, and needs to talk to someone who will listen while rumbling comfortingly at her? Who is going to supervise the next time someone comes to work on the TV, the washing machine, or the water heater?

I'm going to miss that big ol' silly cat. Somehow, though, I can see him meeting up with Mischief, the Shmoo, and our old dog, Max, and happily going off to get into more trouble, just because they can.