Eventually, I gave in to the inevitable, and took this cranky, yet charming, 13-year old grouch who no one else wanted, to my home. She cackled at all the other cats, as if to warn them not to mess with her, and the message got across loud and clear. Despite the many other feline occupants of her house, everyone left her to her own endeavors and she was happy.

That's not to say she became a content, purring cat -- no, Kimi was a curmudgeon, and that's just who she was. She never jumped in my lap, never purred, never head-butted me, but she would sit close to me and shoot me dirty looks until I finally picked her up and put her in my lap. She gave me one last glower, as if to say, it's about TIME, and then would casually groom herself and fall asleep in my lap. That's just the way she was, and we understood each other. She was our crabby Kimi, and we loved her regardless.

Kimi's health started to deteriorate about a year ago; failing kidneys, hypertension, renal failure. etc. We gave her fluids twice a week to help allay the symptoms, but we knew we were fighting a losing battle. She stopped eating normal cat food about that time, turning up her nose at both dry or wet cat food, but she loved cat treats, and would cackle her demands each time we stepped into her room. Sure it might be considered junk food, but we were just happy she was eating.

The last few days Kimi stopped cackling. No longer was she a curmudgeon, no more glowering, no more cackling for treats, just a blank look of indifference. She has been gradually losing weight over the past several years; when we first adopted her she weighed 13 pounds. She was now just 5 pounds of skin loosely covering her bony structure. We took her to the vet, who confirmed what we already knew deep in our hearts. She was in pain; they could treat some of the symptoms, but couldn't treat all of them, and could do nothing to stop the deterioration in a 17-year old cat. With tears in our eyes, we made that toughest of all decisions: we let her go.

She may be gone now, but her cackles will forever echo through our memories. Crabby Kimi, we loved you. Rest in peace.

Kimi Weiss
December 31, 1986 - June 19, 2004

Daffy came to us by way of our veterinarian, who told of us a lady who dropped off Daffy to be euthanized because she inherited Daffy from her mother and didn't want him. Sure he was an old cat, but he was in no way ready to end his life. So we took him in, purportedly so we could transfer him the Siamese Rescue Center, but we quickly became enamored by him and ended up keeping him for the last several, enjoyable years of his long, long life.

Daffy was a fun, fun cat. There were no territorial disputes when he arrived. None of the other cats had any problem with him joining our already large family; it was as if they saw him as the kind uncle who everyone likes. Indeed, his personality was so easy-going, he was impossible to dislike. He had absolutely no fear, as though he had seen it all, and nothing phased him. He watched the dogs with amusement as they bounded around him and nosed him, eyed the noisy vacuum cleaner with irritation, but never budged or flinched from anything.

Easy-going as he was, Daffy did have one peculiarity. He insisted on not only sleeping in our bed, but I had to be in one particular position, with arm bent over my head so he could curl up against my chest and arm. If I wasn't in exactly the right position, he would sit upright inches from my nose and stare at me until I got it right. If I closed my eyes and pretended to ignore him, he would march back and forth over my head, dragging his belly over my face. He knew how to get his way!

We always wondered what Daffy must have been like as a kitten. He came to our life as a senior citizen, but with his fearlessness and easy-going personality, he must have been a charming and amusing kitten, although I am sure quite exasperating at times!

Although we only spent the last few years of his life with him, I think he knew what we had done for him, and loved us for it. We will miss him terribly, but are thankful for the opportunity to have provided him with a comfortable, caring and loving environment for his final years.

I know you shouldn't have favorites, but nevertheless, Jantsy was always my favorite cat. It wasn't easy to gain her trust, not to mention her love and affection, but after a long process (see Janty's Page for more details), we developed a strong bond, a bond that surpassed all the other cats. Even if I had other cats in my lap, she didn't glare or look jealous. She knew that she was my cat, and that I was her human. When my lap came available, she would quietly jump into my lap, nuzzle my chest and place one paw over my heart as if to say, "you are mine."

Jantsy was our first "rescue" from the Siamese Rescue Center. She didn't look very Siamese-ish, and was hardly friendly at the time. Still a small kitten, she hid constantly under furniture with two semi-feral kittens and hissed and growled at anyone that came close. But we were determined, and despite her protestations as we pulled her out, I could sense the longing in her for some attention and some affection. Time proved me right. Once comfortable in her new environment, she showed none of the fright or aggression we first witnessed at the Rescue Center.

Jantsy was always a puzzle. Her fur did its own thing, and brushing only made it look even wilder. She had cataracts in her eyes, rare for a kitten, and had various ailments, but veterinarians and specialists could never pinpoint the cause. She endured a lot of tests, but as long as I was there with her, she never even squirmed -- she knew if I was there, I was looking out for her best interest and she accepted it. Despite her ailments, she was always an active and happy cat.

I guess it's only fitting that her death came as a mystery as well. I found her one day curled up in her favorite cat tree, seemingly asleep, but her time had passed. I wish I had more time with spend with her, but my memories will be with her always.

Good bye Jantsy, my friend.