My very first cat, Quetzel, was 16 or so when she died. She was a wonderful cat, she had just about every cat color on her. My parents found her in the woods starving to death when the lived in Newfoundland in the early 70's. When I was younger we moved around alot, and when Quetzel was older we were living in Chicago. The summer she died my family was moving back to eastern Canada, and we really hoped that she would live long enough to go home. Unfortunatly she died in her sleep, but I was so glad to have her for so long.
My first cat of my own was Saxony, a black/white tuxedo male. He was probably the friendliest cat I've ever known. He was run over one winter night at the age of 3, and I was devestated, but made the decision to keep any other cat I would have as an indoor cat.
My next cat was Oopee, a solid white female. She had been badly mistreated as a kitten, and was consequently very jumpy, and not particularly friendly to anyone else besides me, expecially to men. But she was so loving to me, and she was such a cute, round little cat. Unfortunatly she got out one night, and did not return. I still hold out hope 9 years later that she might return.
Chelsea came after Oopee. He was cat of the day this past Sunday. You can read his story at http://catoftheday.com/archive/2001/October/14.html , boy do I still miss him.
It is my greatest hope that my current two, Clyde and Scooter live to be old, old cats!