My sister took my two cats when I lost my house. Salem fell ill, and his ashes are now on my night stand. Now it looks like Johnny isn't long for this world. He's in full kidney failure and there's not really much anyone can do. My sister found all this out on the day she was leaving for Peru, which was also her birthday.
Hopefully I'll be able to say goodbye to him in time. Zoey has a hard time dealing with me being sad. She tries to hold me down so she can give me kisses to cheer me up. It's really sweet.
Johnny has been on borrowed time for about 13 years. My step daughter's friend's mom asked us to take a litter of kittens, and I think at the time we already had 6 rescue cats, so we declined. So what she did was get extremely angry about us not taking the kittens, and said something like "I'm going to have the kittens put done one by one until you take them," and after making good on her threat by having two of the kittens euthanized, we finally took the other 3.
I'll save the tale of Buster and Moo for another story, but after about a year, Johnny was the only one of his litter still alive.
Salem and Johnny became outdoor cats when we got the Chihuahuas, which was kind of a mutual choice as neither group of animals liked each other.
Together they were inseparable and kept the neighborhood clear of mice for almost 10 years. I don't think I ever saw Johnny and Salem individually the whole time we were in Spokane; they were always together. And they were inseparable at my sister's until Salem passed away last year.
After Salem's passing, Johnny became great friends with my sister's 15 year old cat, Satin. She sent me some photos of them together last night, which I'll get around to posting. It's like finally when I start to feel like my new life is not going to have so much pain, something comes by and kicks me in the sad place.