Feline departure.

I was informed that the second of the "Brothers Large" passed away over the weekend. My sister had two unusually large cats: Murphy and Yoshi. Or, as I liked to call them: Thunderbutt and Leadfoot.

Yoshi passed away earlier this year. Murphy went to the great velour pillow in the sky this past weekend.

It's rough knowing that they're gone. They were around for at least 12 years, probably longer. Yoshi was a kitten when my Sis got him, but Murpo was at least 3 when he adopted her, making him around 15 when he left this world. (Cats adopt people, you know.) But them being gone kinda freaks me out. They weren't even "my" cats, but I got to play with them, visit with them, buy them Christmas presents.

And they're both gone in the same year.

Some folks get all squinky about cats dying. They claim detachment: "How can you get attached to a cat?" Silliest question on the planet. If you had a someone living with you for 12 years and they died, would you miss them? Yeah you would. Cats behave more like people than most folks know. And when they go, they take a little bit of you with them. Tangible joy has left the world. And you're left with a dull ache in the middle of your chest... an emptiness that only time can fill.

Farewell, Murphy.