You were born in a groundhog hole in my mom's back pasture nearly 16 years ago, a surprise Siamese in a feral cat population. I really wanted just one kitten at that time, but both my mom and my then-husband insisted that we couldn't separate you and your sister, so both of you came home with me. My husband dubbed you Elvis, for your blue eyes and in a nod to a conversation I had with friends about names you'd give your pets but not your children.
Since you came into my life, I have lost things, like my marriage and my parents, and have moved away from my home of more than 30 years. Just this spring, we lost your silly "brother" Si, who also got his start in the back pasture at mom's. You saw me through many changes--big and small--and were always a sweet, funny, loving companion--a bed and lap warmer even at the end. As I write you this inadequate tribute, your sister Chili is sitting in my lap, purring and trying to offer some small comfort. My only wish is that I could have offered you more comfort in the end and a more peaceful exit from this earth than the one you had to endure. I love you Elvis and I had hoped to spend more time with you. I can still hope to see you again in the hereafter.