The Story of Roscoe

He was Cutest Cat that ever purred! He was cuter than a puppy.
He was absolutely the best natured and best cat. The Vet called at seven this morning to say he died, it was probably cancer. He did not have any pain or discomfort and was still eating and drinking till the very end, altho he weighed half his regular 11 pounds. When we went to visit him last night I knew he was going.

Flashback 18 years ago: Steve's Dad had just died and our darling 21 year old cat Minou had to be put to sleep.
Needing solace we went to a shelter and adopted Lulu (officially LieuLieu), an adult female cat, about 2 years old, mainly because we were afraid no one else would want her. She had had a crushed pelvis and was scruggly and skinny. She lived very well , sweet girl, till last year when she had to be put to sleep the day after I came out of the hospital for surgery on my broken wrist.(why the fuck do bad things happen in bunches?) A few days after we got Lulu, we were walking pass our local pet grooming place, a place we liked cause the owner Cheri was forever picking up strays and taking in kittens and puppies. Looking in the window, I saw Roscoe, and our eyes met. Come, says Steve. No, I say, we don't need another cat. He's too cute, says Steve. No kittens, say I. Steve: You know you want him. Yes, I said.
We went in and this 4 month old kitten was being terrorized by a chihuahua puppy the size of an egg. (He always disliked dogs which is we don't have one) Steve bent down to pet him and he crawled into his lap and the rest is history.
After he came home from being neutered, the Vet said he might be woozy and not to let him walk around. He was lying on Steve's chest when he started waking up. We tried to restrain him so he wouldn't fall off the bed, so he peed all over Steve's chest.
He and Lulu got along, but he was definitely the one in the relationship who loved more. She was a sweetie but independent, not like Roscoe who was more dog-like and I'm afraid, something of a Mama's boy.
Lulu was always very skinny and muscular and Roscoe was soft and sqooshy like a puppy, so we called her Stick-legged beast and he was FatBoy.
He would fetch balls and return them, come when you call (most of the time) and respond to commands: no, up, get-in-the-box, get-the-ball, tuna, treats, spray bottle. After he got locked in the closet for a whole day, we called him Closet Boy whenever he poked his nose where it should not be. He would respond with a bad look and an annoyed meow, then walk away.
He was always very vocal and articulate, if not occasionally loud, and had many meows in his repetoire: I want love!, I want food!, you are the best thing in the world!, where are you?, I'm downstairs doing something bad! (eating plants, walking on the stove), Hey, there's a cat in the yard!
He was unconditional furry love. When I was housebound, he was my comforting companion. He was like a heated cushion. He was constantly purring. His catsitters all loved him. He was loved by all.
When we saw him last night, he was lying in his cage, belly shaved from the sonogram, IV in his paw, unresponsive. I put my face next to his and he came awake and recognized us and started meowing, followed by purring in high gear. We had our moments of love and goodbye. We will miss our Fatboy.