He was a good cat, and he lived a long life with us. When he started getting old, there was a point when he got very sick, and was real thin. We took him to the vet, who said that he had a tumor in his chest and wouldn’t live for very long. Thankfully we did not put him down then, like the vet had suggested, because it turned out that he was wrong. Eventually we discovered that his teeth were bothering him, so he could not eat the dry food that we were giving him. Once we switched to canned cat food, he began eating again (like a little pig!) and soon gained back all of his weight.
He was a silly cat. He loved water, and would follow you around the house if you had a glass in your hand. He also would jump up onto the sink whenever you ran the tap, hoping that you would fill it up for him.
He was the master of the house, and had no problems kicking the dog out of his spot. The dog let him, of course, so there was never a real issue.
Christmas was always his favorite holiday. He would sit under the tree all day, every year. Once the tree went up, we didn’t see him again until it came back down.
He was a really good cat, and I loved him. I was his “person”, so he always liked me best. My room was his room, and I never let the other animals in so that it could be his space. (Until we got another cat, who moved herself in one day and never left. At this point, Sparky was already so old he couldn’t be bothered trying to fight over my bed.)
He’s my baby. And I really miss him.