Today when Pk and I got home from the gym, we found our Calvin lying motionless on our bed.  He didn't move when Pk put his gymbag down and Pk leaned down and felt him and said, "he's cold".    We thought he was dead.  Pk picked him up and wrapped him in a towel and took him downstairs.  Then he called "Hon, he's not dead".  I took Calvin and held his limp body as he took shallow, shuddering breaths.  We waited for each one to be his last.    He lasted for about two hours. It never occured to me to rush him to the vet and take heroic measures.  It was obvious he wasn't going to live.  His pupils were fixed and unresponsive.(I've read too many medical books for my own good).    We held him and talked to him and waited.  He finally took that last breath and died. We think he had a stroke.

  Calvin was our "kindergarten cat".  Not terribly bright but awfully cute.   He defied the "cats are graceful" rule by falling off a shelf (where he didn't belong) and breaking his leg.  6 weeks of listening to him stomp around in a bright red cast is something I'll remember forever.  (The first night he had the cast, we set him up downstairs with a small, low sided litter box and food and water within easy reach.  In the night, we heard strange noises and found him on the top bunk bed in Em and Kate's room in the morning. He dragged his broken leg (and dislocated knee) up the bunk bed ladder to get on the top bed he loved.)

 I'll miss him every day.  

 I love you, Calvin.