Here is my Dude last summer, when he was feeling well and enjoying the freedom of being in his own home after many years at the shelter:
He died at home, in my arms, last Friday at 5:30pm.
Dude became my "sweetheart" cat within a week of being adopted. He was very gentlemanly, as befits a cat wearing a tux. He curled up close to me at night, but didn't take over too many of the covers. He was content to sit with me and gaze up into my face until I could stop typing and stroke him. He did have a tendency to snatch at my hand when I tried to go back to typing, but I took that as a compliment to my stroking. He also had a streak of mischievesness in him, and I would see it in his eyes sometimes as he looked back up at me, a kind of challenge not to impose on his good nature too far. He was a well-rounded cat. He had tattered ears, pieces of fur missing, scars, but also a generosity of spirit. He was a cat who gave.
I keep trying to remember not to look around and say "Where's my Dude", which I used to do all the time. I'll never forget him, how could I?
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