Caption from a January 2009 post: We caught Tiny in a Rembrandt Moment this afternoon as she stared atop Tuck's computer at things we don't see in the countdown to supper. Update from Tuck in the comments: "Here is a masterpiece. This portrait speaks to the wonder of our beloved companions; here is a thinking, compassionate, responsive, introspective being."
We lost our angel baby this morning. Fifteen years old, not that old for a cat, but Sweet Tiny Pea had raged against the dying of the light for many years with a number of afflictions that never kept her down for long. "She enjoys being a cat," Tuck always said in delight and awe. Tiny took no prisoners, but Tuck's cat whispering would reduce her to drooling rapture. She was a force of nature, a brilliant athlete and the apple of her suitor, Earl Grey's eye. Last night and this morning when she refused food and was breathing with increasing difficulty, she seemed to be telling us it was time to join her brother, Baby Cakes the Magnificent, after too short a stay on this mortal coil. In remembrance, a republication of our March 2009 post "The Ecstasy of Sweet Tiny":
Update: Thank you dear friends, old and new, for your kind and comforting comments. From Chris Muir:
Update II: More bittersweet thoughts and memories:
Update III: "We never really forget them, writes ailurophile Meryl Yourish in a bittersweet tribute with fluffericious photographs of her "Maine Coon orange boy … Tig, the goofball, who makes me laugh on a daily basis."