When my mom remarried, she took
my her my Cleo with her, and so each time I visit my mom's house, I am always sure to spend some quality time with Miss C. She is, in fact, twenty. She's still a looker. She still sounds more like a sheep (baa-a-a-a-a) than a cat. She still digs the ear rubs and the behind-the-ear rubs. She still loses her mind over turkey.
It's probably for the best that she doesn't live with us any longer. I tend to give in to her craving for sunshine, and whenever I cat-sit, I return her to my mom as a brown cat instead of a white one.
Sigh...I love cats. I need at least five more.