The King is dead. There were no more miracles for Velcro, so he left this world painlessly yesterday, and we buried him on the hill above the barn next to his buddy, Black Kitty.
I woke up this morning because I heard him purring above my head just outside the window. Only not really. And now, everywhere I turn, there is something to remind me of him. The cat bed in the bay window, the Mexican blanket on my favorite armchair still covered in fur, the rug that is flipped up in the bathroom for him to rest on the heating vent. For fifteen years, he has been my shadow, running to the door to greet me when I come home and following me constantly, always ready to jump into my lap insistent that it was time for a snuggle.
He had a long, happy life. He is greatly missed. The pictures tell the story: