Mortality is counterintuitive.
Theresa made it almost to nineteen. Her last two years felt like a complete bonus, every day extra beyond what we’d expected. She ate so much tuna, stole so much pork from fried rice, and constantly begged us to leave the faucet running like a waterfall. Goodbye, Theresa. ❤️
It’s weird how you can look at an elderly, ancient creature — barely just skin and bones, clearly wasting away — and all you see is the baby kitten you brought home almost nineteen years ago, ready to chase every string and scurry under every piece of furniture.
I think Piper knew today was Theresa’s last day. She’s been keenly aware all along that Theresa had seniority in the little hierarchy of Bengal cats in our home and has been patiently waiting her turn to become the reigning queen.