The Loser has said, however, that he may get a puppy or a kitten when he's eighty-five years old or diagnosed with a terminal illness that will kill him within a decade, a more likely scenario.
Yesterday, a friend of the Loser put her 19-year-old cat to sleep. She had named him Klimt, after the artist. He was a good cat. It will always amaze the Loser how a brain that would fit in a tablespoon can have an entire personality and enough survival skills to enable a naked, small creature to survive outdoors in all kinds of weather.
So long, Klimt.
|Klimt the cat lounges on a carpeted floor in 2011.|