Mittens.
I'm sure that only a few of you know that I recently acquired a cat. Her name is Jane, but I call her Mittens. Mittens is spelled with two 'T's' and you had goddamn better pronounce those 'T's.' She has seven toes on her front feet, which gives her the appearance of wearing mittens. Hence, Mittens. She was a wonderful kitty, she would sleep on you in just the right way, face to face, not ass to face. At just the appropriate distance, so she wouldn't smell my nasty beer breath, and I wouldn't smell her nasty catfood breath. She knew when to keep her distance, and when to snuggle. She knew when to meow at me, and when to stay silent. She was so small. On Friday I took her to the vet, because she was sick. In addition to the health complications of malnourishment from her previous caregiver, she was diagnosed with FIP (Viral) and possible lymphoma. She was given weeks to live. I signed the form, and Mittens and I parted ways on Saturday afternoon. A few of her close friends and I had a wake for her on the beach. Funny how a little fuzzy cat can burrow into your heart in just a few weeks. She was barely three years old. So long Mittens.