Shortly after I moved to Austin, my roommate and I adopted a pair of kittens from the same litter. We named them Peejee and Aubrey, and while strictly speaking Aubrey was my cat and Peejee was hers, I ended up keeping both (she kept a third cat) when we moved apart.

Peejee was always the bright one, Aubrey the dim-but-friendly one. Peejee was the tidy one, Aubrey the leaky one. There were a few times when I regretting picking the gray calico out of the litter instead of a prettier, perkier, healthier cat. Aubrey managed to sound old and creaky by the time she was two.

She loved running water and being petted. Not a whole lot else. She was a cat of naps and petting, water and petting, water and naps. She leaked on a lot of things. She went through multiple surgeries to fix things before the vet said it just couldn't be fixed. She was the most likely cat to go say hello to strangers, and we knew it was time when she stopped eating, stopped drinking, and stopped even wanting to stay near us.

A very nice vet made a house call. He was kind and patient, and she got to eat a little kibble for the first time in a few days, and curl up on my lap, before she fell asleep. And that was Aubrey.
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