When they were about 1 year old, in 2005, my husband and I adopted a brother-sister pair of Maine Coon cats from the local Humane Society. He named them perfectly: Adams and O'Keefe, after Ansel Adams and Georgia O'Keeffe (I didn't realize we'd spelled it wrong for years). O'Keefe was the Investigator, the bold one who always went right up to visitors expecting to be petted. Adams was the Shy Boy, quiet and unassuming, staying in the background. My husband died in 2006 and my two kitties were such solace. When I retired in 2011, I grew to love them more and more. Gradually, Adams came out of his shell. I give O'Keefe a Royal Brushinating daily, but it was months before Adams decided to jump up onto the Brushing Hassock and try it out. Over months, he went from allowing only a few strokes of the kitty brush to jumping right in there if O'Keefe didn't answer the call immediately. He and I grew more and more bonded as he showed more and more of his golden heart.
Then, in October 2016, he died. He was happy and healthy (his annual vet exam a couple months earlier showed him to be in the peak of health), and the next minute, literally, he was gone. The vet said it was most likely a stroke. It was such a shock, I'm still mourning Adams. I have a file on my laptop of hundreds of pictures of our cats and sometimes I just page through them to watch them all do their cat things again: napping, sitting in boxes, playing together, watching birds out the window. And then I came across this photo. I don't even remember snapping the picture. But it is the perfect portrait of Adams. Gentle, loving, calm and beautiful. It is Adams. He was an excellent little soul. I'm glad we were able to give him 11 years of love and care. And he will be in my heart forever. O'Keefe is still with me, and I treasure every moment with her.
Omaha, NE
