When Annalisa and I were married 13 years ago yesterday, she had three cats--Athos, Porthos and Aramis. They are the Three Musketeers if you ready old books or watch bad movies. Of course the main Musketeer is D'Artagnan, and that is one criticism of the story for most of the past two centuries.
Actually, Aramis, who spent way too much time sitting in the middle of streets, died just before we were married. Athos, the more adventurous of the two remaining brothers, lived several years longer, but also succumbed to injuries from spending just that extra moment in the road.
Porthos lived a fairly long life for a cat. He and his brother Athos were excellent hunters. They left the remains of mice and baby bunnies near the back door so we could see how proficient they were in small furry animal population control. After the demise of Athos, Porthos was less inclined to hunt and, like many older carnivores, put on a lot of weight. At his weight peak, his hind feet would disappear under his fat when he sat down.
But like some obese people, he managed to remain healthy despite a sedentary lifestyle. In the last year he rapidly lost weight. Last night when I switched the laundry at midnight, Porthos was asleep on a small rug. He didn't move when I turned the light on, but I thought I saw him breathing. The next morning he had not moved. I checked. He was not breathing.
Porthos is buried in the flower garden near our garage between Athos and our dog Lucky.
We will be getting a dog in September after we return from vacation. We had been planning to get a dog for a while and now we won't have to worry that a new and energetic dog will torment our geriatric feline.