We'd had the boy a few months when a relative called. A papa cat, mama cat, and four kittens had turned up on his doorstep. The papa delivered his family and left. The relative took the mama cat and a neighbor took the kittens. Two of them found homes. Would we take one of the two that were left?
We went to look at them. The neighbor already had five or six adult cats -- she was brave to take on the four kittens! -- and they were all in the living room, looking on with bemusement as one of the kittens ran around playing with a toy. If another cat tried to take it away, she grabbed it back. And they let her. That little black and white ball of fur was clearly the boss. She cowed them all, including her brother.
My guy pointed to her. "That one. She's got personality."
And that she did. When we got her home, she assumed the role of queen of the house and never relinquished it. Our darling boy-cat wasn't sure what to make of her but was too much of a gentleman to object. He let her do as she pleased except when it came to food. He had been a street cat, and he took umbrage at anyone interfering with his meals.
So for all but a couple of months of her seventeen years, she lived with us and her adopted brother. When he left us, she must have been bewildered. I don't think she remembered life without him. She went downhill, had to be put on steroids. That helped, bringing back her appetite and giving her some energy. I thought the worst was past.
Then last week, she threw up, curled up into a ball, and refused to eat. Even her favorite tuna juice got nothing more than a desultory sniff. She started hiding under the computer table or in the closet without moving for hours, and I knew it was time.
I do think she was pining for her brother.
Now the house is quiet and we have no need to watch for a warm furball or make room for a little form to lie beside my guy while we watch TV. We are thankful for all the good years we enjoyed them, but oh, we are missing both of them dreadfully!