Little Ruth Kitty left us yesterday, she was 22 years old. She had been in declining health over the past several weeks from kidney failure but had been bravely fighting on. She will be greatly missed by me, and
jdulac.
She was our dowager, our grande dame, a lady of culture and refinement, to whom we gave a voice something like Bertie Wooster’s Aunt Agatha. In Miss Ruth World she had been on safari in Africa (“That Mr. Hemingway was drunk the entire time!”), had holidayed in Monte Carlo (“And as I was saying to the Duke of Windsor in the casino…”) and was forever bemoaning the general decline of society (“The quality of this establishment has become very poor indeed! Slipshod! Completely slipshod!”). However, in spite of the formidable character we had given her, she was extremely sweet and would purr the moment you stepped into her room. Except that is for Gaston Kitty, the young roué (or so he was styled in Miss Ruth World), who would have loved nothing more than to have been able cuddle with her (he being a cuddler of the first order). However she being a lady of quality would not stand for those sorts of advances. In spite of her hisses, I think Gaston Kitty will miss her quite a bit too.