Jokie was barely 10. This photo is only a month old. We got him 11 days short of 10 years ago, as a little puffball who couldn't even hiss yet. Sir Fluffy McFluffington III was his original joke name.
He was on the bed when I went to sleep, like always. We didn't do snuggles last night because he was already asleep when I got into bed.
He didn't come for his breakfast this morning, not unusual.
My husband found him on the floor on his side of the bed while I was at work. It was like he got off the bed, collapsed and died. He was still eating, drinking, rough housing with his sister until 1230 last night. He wrapped his tail around my calf to stand between my feet and yell at my husband for daring to go to work a couple of hours before I went to bed. He was a little grey around the face, but there was nothing wrong with him.
I feel like it's my fault, that he died on my watch, alone. He got me through grieving our first cat/his friend of 9 years last July, now he's gone too.
Its not fair, and I miss him so much.
Goodbye, fluffball. Never again shall we wage war over the issue of brushing the knots from your belly. But for the record, I won.