Oreo

This is my kitty, Oreo. I adopted her from a rescue organization 6 or 7 (8?) years ago. I almost went with another cat, a gorgeous long-haired Persian, but the volunteer kept talking about what a love Oreo was, how all she wanted was to cuddle and be held. I went with cuddle over beauty and I never regretted the decision.

Oreo's more like a dog than a cat. She follows me wherever I go, waiting for me to sit down so she can climb in my lap. She's willing to share the lap, but she has to be closest to me. AJ can have my legs; Oreo has to have my lap or tummy or shoulder. In the morning while I'm reading the paper in bed, she'll stretch out on my chest with her face as close to mine as possible, sigh, close her eyes and go to sleep, totally content.
I can pick Oreo up, carry her with me to bed and she'll curl up beside me, ready to sleep as long as I want. Try that with another cat and they'll be offended that you would dare suggest they do anything.

Oreo had a bit of the devil in her. She delighted in pouncing on the other cats when they least expected it, chasing them through the house until they hissed and batted her away. She'd chase any yarn ball she could find, and she was good at finding them. She'd watch me put a ball away - in a drawer or bag, it didn't matter where - wait for me to walk away, then work it out of its hiding place so she could play. I can't remember the number of times I'd walk into my studio and find yarn over and under and through and around everything in sight. She hated when I wouldn't pay what she considered 'sufficient' attention to her. She'd climb in the middle of a project, always willing to 'help'. We spent almost every evening together, Oreo asleep on my lap as I crocheted or computered.

The view from my lap. "No more flashbulbs, mom."

At about year four, Oreo started her battle with feline stomatitus. She put up with surgeries, feeding tubes, and having all but 4 of her teeth pulled to combat her chronic mouth infections. We finally settled on a regimen of 4 daily oral medications. I'd mix her 'cocktail', then hold her in the crook of my arm while squirting them down her throat. She didn't fight me - not with the feeding tubes, the medications or the dreaded baths - she just took whatever came her way with total trust.
When I took Oreo for an unplanned visit to the vet today, I knew in my heart that it wouldn't be good, but Oreo's surprised me before and I expected that she'd do it again. We could have scheduled yet another surgery to extract her abscessed teeth; tried more medications to fight her raging ear fungus; started treatment for diabetes; tried yet another skin shampoo to stop her pulling the hair on her sides out by the handful. But nothing we could do would make her healthy; it would just prolong her life. And her quality of life has been steadily deteriorating.
I know I made the right decision to put her to sleep. But damn, I'm going to miss my baby. Rest in peace, Oreo.