August 22, 2012:

Buddy the big gray kitty loved string cheese. It was the only human food I was ever able to sell him on.

He was so loving and grateful to be looked after. He knew he needed taking care of, that his hunting skills were not strong. His purr was loud as a Harley and he'd purr all night, at the end of the bed or cuddled on top of the covers behind my knees. I'd wake at 3am and hear him purring. Or he'd want to come close to my face to snuggle: with his head on my shoulder, purring.

He was so big and he had not the beginning of a glimmer of a clue that his claws could hurt. Sleeping on my lap, if he'd start to roll off he'd dig his front claws in and pull his full weight back into position. Whoa, dude, that's my femoral artery you're in contact with.

He wasn't very bright. He was often underfoot, racing to the door or the food dish; I had to be conscious and careful not to be tripped. He meant well. He loved me, he really did. After grooming himself for sleep he'd often lick my fingers, a gesture of true affection I think. He loved to be held.

It hurts me to know that he suffered great pain from the blood clot that killed him. It cut off circulation to his hind legs, and they died. He was in shock from pain, very cold. Terrible, terrible. It's so sad that I couldn't be there to love him while he died.

My friend and I scattered his ashes in the places he loved.

I hope there's string cheese in cat heaven.