Meanderings of a Fandom Magpie

We have cats. Three. The oldest of whom was maybe eight or nine when we adopted him from the shelter. Hamilton is now...is 16 or 17 and has been slowly declining over the last few months. Now, over the last couple of weeks, he's been less and less himself. Not grooming, not coming downstairs to snuggle with us, that kind of thing. I'm not even entirely sure he knows who we are, except that he can trust us.

And it hurts. Because I know what's coming. I've seen it happen before. At some point, we all get here with our beloved companion animals---the end of the line. And I will miss him so. All he ever asked from us was a warm lap, cat food, and some catnip now and then. And what he's given us, and gives us now, is so much more.

Right now he's asleep on my lap. I'm not going to move him.