Cutey and Climber were brothers that we adopted when I was 3-4 years old. Climber (who was technically my brother's cat) came down with feline leukemia when I was around 10 years old - very sad, we thought we were going to put him to sleep. My brother begged to let him have one more weekend with Climber, and when we went back the next week, the leukemia had gone into remission. Never came back, and Climber lived to the ripe old age of 18. He was always skinny, never ate much, but always was very active right into his old age. He just didn't seem to age at all.

I went to Japan one summer, came back, and on the day I got back, we found Climber in the back yard with a shattered hip. He was still alive, but there was nothing they could do for him - they put him to sleep.

Cutey, on the other hand, ate, ate, and ate - and slept all the time. Around 15-16 years old, his fur started to fall out, and he developed a problem with continual scratching of his back, leaving really nasty scabs there. He lived up until the same time that Climber died, then shortly afterwards had the renal failiure. My mother gave him IV fluids and force fed him a diet of chicken and broccoli. He lived for another year and a half before she had him put to sleep near christmas.

Those two cats taught me more about kindness and caring than any other person in my formative years.