Phoebe is gone.

Her brother was the nice one: sweet and forgiving and happy to see you. He usually wanted Eliz's lap. He's been gone more than two years.

And now Phoebe. She was the smart one. She saw things, considered her objectives, and made plans. Once she dragged a sheet of paper down the hallway... and then a pencil. We didn't investigate. Phoebe preferred my lap, and given her loudly expressed preferences, would sleep by my side. When Ben died she was still in perfect health, a 16 year old cat who could have been mistaken for ten. But her health started to fade about six months later. Neurological problems crippled her gait, and she became incontinent. Still, she purred and was happy in sunbeams until recently. The last few weeks she has had increasing problems moving around; she could take a few steps and then fell over.

This morning she couldn't take a few steps.

She had the softest fur. She was a mighty bug hunter. She was a great cat.

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