Today I lost Junior. Juney June. My Little One. The Love of My Life.

She was the little feral one who came into my yard as a kitten of some indeterminate age and stayed. She stayed 14+ years with me, forever in my heart.

She first came over through the bamboo on a brick wall. She was a refugee from a house four or five doors down where a man fed black cats. Any black cat in the neighborhood came from him. He had about 50 black cats, never had them fixed. He was overrun by cats and Junior tried to escape that life.

I tried sending her back. One morning, August 6, 2000, I came outside and Junior was asleep on a towel that had fallen. I fed her. She stayed.

I didn't know she was a she. She looked so much like my black cat Typo that I called her Junior for Typo's son. I found out later Junior was a girl but by then her name was Junior. And it fit. She was the runt. A very petite cat. It took me six months before I could pet her. She would rub against Typo and I would pet Typo, then my hand would stray over to her and she started becoming used to my touch. It took a long time.

I've had many cats before and loved them all dearly. This one was special. She lived outside until she was 11 and then came in. She slept by my side or on my face for the next three and a half years and I loved every second of it. Except when she licked me. That I didn't like. It wasn't one lick or 10 licks. It was 50 licks and you quit counting but she didn't quit licking.

We spooned. I know, I know, I sound like she was my wife. She was just the most beloved animal to me. I can't even describe it. I was bewitched by her endearing ways.

Junior took to the house as if she was born to it. I taught her to use a litter box and she didn't have one accident in the house, not one. She just learned.

She had a bed she loved in my office and she spent most of her days with me there -- she did love that bed, by the way. It was almost as if she lit up when she got it, she just took to it immediately. So I would say if she went outside, my associate is working in the field. Or the front office. It really was like we ran the business together though one of us did more sleeping than the other.

I noticed she started throwing up about six weeks ago. It was unusual for her. I was worried, but she seemed okay. We went to Thailand and she was very happy when I came home. Nothing too unusual, still throwing up some. When she didn't want to watch TV with me, I worried. When she didn't join me in bed, I worried more. She would come in the morning and jump on the bed and cuddle and spoon but it wasn't right. I took her to the vet. The ultrasound showed lymphoma.

And just like that, within a week of that diagnosis, she's gone. When my first cat Graystripes had lymphoma, she lasted a good six months with a good quality of life except for that daily pill. Junior, being so small... she was only 7 pounds at her heaviest... didn't have any reserves. She stopped eating after the vet's visit. It was almost as if she said, "Good, you finally know." The night she came home, she must have jumped on the bed 20 times, putting her cheek to my face, crying a little, trying to get comfortable. She couldn't. And finally, she went to the office to sleep.

She went outside more frequently and I thought she was reverting to her feral ways and was just going to disappear. Within a few days, she seemed so sad, so morose. Suffering, really.

And I thought she would hold out until Monday. But she hid in the bushes, not sleeping, just kind of holding herself together uncomfortably. And I knew it was time. If not today, tomorrow, when the vet was closed and I would have to wait until Monday and it would be a day too late. A day of needless suffering. My sister said she brought her cat in a day too late. Pad Thai... On a Saturday, I planned her departure for a late Monday afternoon. And by Monday morning, her mouth cancer was bleeding. A day late.

Junior came to life at the vet. I could only say it was the adrenaline... the cats mewling, the dogs barking. The unfamiliar surroundings in a carrier. The vet agreed. She gave me plenty of time with Junior.

The last thing that Junior saw was the one person who loved her most in this world. And the one she loved the most. I held her, I petted her, even when she had the look from the unnatural sleep.

I decided she would be cremated and I would keep her ashes. I know just where to put them. A little bit on the wall she first came in on. Some on the opposite side of the wall where she used to jump up every day to watch the sun set. A little underneath her mosaic steppingstone. Some in the catnip she used to love to lay in. Maybe in my office.

It's the first time in 30 years I don't have a pet. I will again. Not right away but sooner rather than later. She was the best and there is just no replacing her. I know I will enjoy my next cat. I can love again. But that one... that one.

I asked her to let me know she made it. I think she'll send me a sign on the brick wall she sunned herself on. I really think she will. I'll let you know.

This picture is Junior as a baby. It's terrible, I know. She wasn't really good at letting me take her photo and I wasn't really good at getting her photo.