After a long and luscious life, our cat, Stuart, has finally passed on. Stuart came to us as a stray, taking up residency in our yard, then our basement, then our kitchen, and finally our hearts. We never knew how old he was, but he was a part of our lives for well over 15 years.
Stuart was a real lover of a cat, wanting nothing more than peace, quiet, and affection. He was huge cat with a squeaky little meow, and his paws were big and soft like marshmallows. He had an insatiable appetite for being scratched on the sides of his neck; it made him purr like a thunderstorm. I like to think that I was his favorite. He certainly was mine.
I'm not sad to see him go; we've all been ready for so long now. I'm just happy that, of all the families whose lives could have been warmed by his soft, sage-like presence, he chose ours, and we took him in.
He was buried this week behind the garage, next to Munchkin, Sweet-Heart, and Oreo, all of whom he knew and far outlived. Rest in peace Stuart. I hope, wherever you are, that there's a kitchen counter with milk and shredded cheddar, and someone to scratch your neck.
