We learned today from Andria, Katie's old roommate and bridesmaid, that our old cat Maower has lymphoma. Andria, Katie, and I found him in the fall of 2000 when we visited an animal shelter in Chicago. There was never really any doubt as to which cat we would pick, because when Katie held Maower (which Rawson told us was German for "wall"), she started laughing uncontrollably at his sheer girth. He has some pretty endearing qualities, like whining for tuna, placing his full weight on your lap, and angrily pooping in corners because his previous owners had removed the claws he otherwise would have used to destroy our legs. But he's ultimately a sweet cat, and Andria's been lucky to have him for the past five years.Maower is eleven now, we think, and still alive and kicking. He has had many names: Simba, Malachy, Fatty, Maower, etc. But most importantly, he's had a life full of good tuna, good owners, and a tubby butt. Long live the 27 lbs. feline--we will miss him.
Update: Maower died. Long live the fat cat.
