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Acidman wasn’t the only death to hit the Realm™ hard Monday.

Four-and-a-half hours later, the senior animal in my household – Alfie, the Big Humongous Yellow Lump That Masquerades As My Cat™ – passed away after suffering what appears to have been a stroke.  He was 11 years old, the last 10 of those years spent with me.

I first acquired Alfie from a girl I was dating at the time.  He was scratching the hell out of her mother, and she begged me to take him before he had to go to the pound.

His first three weeks in my home were spent in the pantry with the pots & pans.  Eventually he became accustomed to me, the Sibling Unit™ and his Boston Terrier, and came out to live with us.

I had another cat at the time, a black/white tabby named Fred, and we used to joke that Alfie was Fred reincarnated – because immediately after the talkative Fred passed on, Alfie found his voice, and refuesd to shut up.

Two ruined pieces of furniture and a torn spot on the carpet later, he got declawed, and became a fixture in my house until Monday.  He would either snuggle in your lap or fight you tooth & nail, depending on his mood and what you wanted to do with him at the time.  My favorite thing to do with him was pick him up, pro-wrestling style, and body-slam him onto the bed.  Whereupon he would just lay there as if to say, “Well?  Hurry up and rub my tummy – I don’t have all day.”

He loved everybody and was afraid of no one.  He’d walk up to complete strangers and start loudly meowing at them, demanding that they acknowledge his majestic presence.  He ruled the house, whether we admitted it or not – and we wouldn’t have had it any other way.

So long, old friend.  You’re already missed terribly.


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