Jasmine was a good and loyal cat, sweet and loving until the end. She was preceded on her trip to the great electric blanket in the sky by a long line of beloved family cats.
She showed up outside my brother’s apartment as a very young cat. In her youthful days, she sought adventure numerous times by climbing the Christmas tree, and wasn’t afraid to whack a rather large but deserving (in her opinion) dog on his nose, if necessary. Said dog learned to give Jasmine her space.
Due to allergies, she spent her retirement years with my parents, where she was spoiled—but not spoiled rotten, for who could ever say anything rotten about Jasmine? She was a petite yet pleasingly plump cat, whose large belly my parents affectionately termed “the dust ruffle.” No cat had a sleeker, silkier black coat, and no cat hurried to your side quicker when you sat down on the step with her brush in hand.
She disliked closed doors, the vacuum cleaner, and the sight of suitcases. She loved table scraps, playing with her toy mouse and peacock feather, napping on the laundry (the dirty laundry, if we’re being honest here), and curling up on my dad’s chest as he watched television in the evening. I almost wonder if my parents will know when to go to sleep at night without her telling them it’s time for bed.
Goodbye Jasmine, we will miss you.
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