My younger sister had to put her cat to sleep yesterday. This, of course, was devastating for her. J had had Oopsie (so named because she fell out of a window when she was a kitten, effectively changing her name) for over half her life. Oopsie was, get this, 23 years old. In the end, Oopsie had lung cancer, which I have never heard of a cat getting. No, J doesn't smoke, and never has.
Oopsie's personality was probably what helped her live to such a ripe age. One word- BITCH. That cat didn't love, nor even like anyone but J. In fact, Oopsie once chased my 6' brother around the house. Us bitches are the ones that will live forever, whether we like it or not.
R.I.P., Oopsie. J will miss you something fierce.
Labels: Cats, Family History