|Ming up front, Max behind on their screened porch at our old house|
|They frequently slept together and got into trouble together (my husband called them the Destruction Duo)|
|Although they looked so innocent|
|Just like bookends|
|My favorite picture - Ming reaching down toward Max from atop the cat tree my husband built for them|
Ming didn't have the same kind of close relationship with Pipig even though she treated him as the alpha-cat, just like Max did.
Ming held onto life longer than I expected once it became clear that his decline was irreversible. He remained his stubborn self, even as he grew frailer and frailer. I credit the daily walks we took for that as much, if not more, than the medications, vitamin shots, and near-constant feedings he received. If I was out in the garden, he wanted to be out there too and he would let me know it as only a Siamese cat can.
|Ming loudly protesting his incarceration inside the house with Pipig standing meekly by|
The fountain became his favorite water dish.
He stalked birds and squirrels in the backyard, even though he never came close to catching one.
He stalked lizards in the shrubbery.
He never caught one of those either - unless you count the hapless fellow foolish enough to venture into his screened porch.
He expected me to follow him, wherever he chose to go, but he'd usually wait up for me if I lagged behind.
And if I sat down, he'd usually jump into my lap.
I'm going to miss my garden companion.