"Gandalf" wrote in message
...
It seems like the past 6 months there have been *so many* RPCA kitties
going to the Bridge.

By my count, no less than 11 RPCA cats have gone to the Bridge, just
since June.

I'm sorry to say that it is getting very hard to remember all of the RB
kitties, so they can be properly honored.

So I thought it would be nice to have a thread with all of the RPCA RB
kitties names in it.

I'll start.

Both of my RB kitties have been gone for a long time, although I still
miss them every day. They are buried in my back yard, under my lilac
bushes. There are stone markers where I laid them to rest.

My wonderful, outgoing, extremely friendly tuxedo lady, Lucky, went to
the Bridge on June 9, 1999, before I found RPCA. She shared 16 years
with me.

My sweet, gentle, loving all white cat, Blizzard, went to the Bridge in
April 10th, 2001. I was blessed with a long full life with her.

Some of the old timers here may remember when Blizzard went deaf, and
gave me advice to cope with her loss of hearing.

In her last year of life, Blizzard began to have trouble jumping up on
the sofa and my bed, and again I received very helpful advice from the
good people here on RPCA to help Blizzard with her decreased mobility.

I was very blessed in that both of my RB kitties lived long full lives,
and suffered no illness, until the very end.

Many other RPCA kitties have not been so fortunate, I'm very sorry to
say.



For me, it's my tiny Mimi, who went to RB in 1995, aged 14, of kidney
failure. She was a feisty little tuxedo girl who introduced herself by
hiding under the bed, but soon revealed herself as a pint-sized Ayatollah,
an iron paw in a velvet glove. She looked, and acted, most of the time, as
if tuna wouldn't melt in her mouth. But she wanted what she wanted when she
wanted it, and just about always got it. She loved to be chased, and my
ex-- who was completely enslaved by her-- obliged her by chasing her around
the house every night. She would sit patiently beside me, waiting for
attention, then she would pick up a tiny paw, and poke me with it, *hard*,
like this-- **poke poke**. HEY YOU! A little attention here. My mom, also
enslaved by her, would give her what seemed to me like unbelievably rough
petting sessions-- she was so tiny. Mimi loved it, and that was why she
loved my Mom. As soon as Mom arrived, Mimi would pop out of nowhere,
demanding her "beating."

She also gave Stinky his name. When he arrived, she made faces that clearly
said "Why did you bring me this stinky kitten?" She always made sure he
knew his place, would hold him down for emphatic hygiene even when he was
twice her size, and kept his whiskers trimmed to a discreet length.

I will always miss her.