To all our oldest friends:

To all our oldest friends: Nivet is dying. (To our newer friends, Nivet is our oldest cat, named for the sniglet meaning “the singular of sandpapery bumps on a cat’s tongue”. At his — height? — he weighed 23 lbs., could open any door in our house, and could be held in any position by anybody.) His face is being eaten up by cancer, he can’t keep dry food down, and the wet food he can keep down comes out… uncontrollably. His tongue can no longer stay in his mouth, so we have to refresh the water three times each day now. The troubles of keeping him alive make is easier not to miss hin, but we’ll always remember how he: 1) opened all the doors in our house (and taught Thunder how to do that to, dammit!) 2) kept our feet warm in winter 3) never, ever scratched G until she was 7 — in fact protected her 4) pouned on the dogs tails whenever we mentioned any of them just to make him pounce It’s been a good run of 17 years with him (and he was not a kitten when we got him from the 1st st. shelter in ’94), but it is time to say goodbye this Friday. So, pour (or purr) a ’45 of tuna onto the ground on the 23rd… He will be missed. Sniglet – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia