Nov. 30th, 2017

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Radagast passed away this morning, 18 years of being a good cat.
He was always the one more shy, less active, less brave. He claimed the bed as his territory. More amenable to hugging. He liked the taste of earwax. He would be the one waiting to come back inside if he got out. He liked to drink from the slightly dripping bath faucet, getting more water on his whiskers than down his throat.

Gandalf, who passed away a couple years ago, was more adventurous, jumping higher, getting into trouble. Oh, the struggle of giving him thyroid pills! He was more vocal, and would respond to me singing in the shower. He was the one who ran up the tree, with the leash dangling down; always wanting to go outside, then hiding in the bushes or under the deck. He took particular offense to the cat brush.

They groomed each other, but rarely played together. Gandalf had a bit more white on his belly, grey to green eyes; Radagast had more of a paunch, and brown eyes. Born of the same litter, in February of 1999 before the millenium.
Across the Sea, a pale moon rises--and all will turn to silverglass. All souls pass into the West.

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