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Edited to add: Yesterday when I wrote this I could not write a proper eulogy.  I’m not sure I’ll do much better today, but I wanted to recall a few of the really good times with my Taliesin.

When we lived in the Florida Keys, many years ago, we called him The Mighty Hunter.  He loved going out and exploring and doing what cats do.  He would often bring in things for he and his brother Merlin to play with — gecko’s and tree frogs were favorites.  We had a cat door so that they could go in and out as they pleased and he would bring them in unharmed, just a tail or a foot hanging out of his mouth and he would do his best to hide the fact that he was bringing outdoor toys inside.  It was so funny.  One day he brought in a 3 foot long black snake and dropped it in the livingroom, also unharmed, and he made the hunting call noise to alert everyone to come look.  It had coiled up on the floor and Taliesin had never been so proud as he was right then.  We did manage to get the snake out of the house, thankfully.

Living up here in the DC area, we didn’t let our cats out (except for the porch or the fenced in yard).  Too much traffic.  He’d still make the hunting call, though, nearly every night when we went to bed.  He’d get out his favorite toy and drag it to the middle of the livingroom and yowl.  Sometimes he’d go on for nearly 10 minutes, at which point I’d get out of bed to tell him what a good and mighty hunter he was and I’d pet him.  He loved that ritual.  It’s been a little more than a week since he’s done that, since he didn’t “hunt” when he was ill.  Last night I really missed that ritual of his.