On a cold, wet February night in 2004, I had to go to my office after hours, and Susan rode along. On the side of the road I saw a couple of eyes in the weeds and stopped, backed up and shined the headlights to discover a very wet kitten. I hopped out to pick it up, and it ran, so I had a brief chase in the mud running it down. As we continued to the office, Susan said, "This cat has a broken leg." That was a downer, but Susan tried to make it better by telling me she would take the cat to the vet in the morning so I wouldn't have to kill it.
When I got home from work the next day we still had a cat, and it was wearing a cast! Susan related that the vet looked it over and said, " I believe I can fix this cat! The poor thing sure took a tumble." Took a tumble? We had to name her Bug after hearing that. She still likes to sit with her broken leg out; kind of like Chester on Gunsmoke.
Bug passed away last night. Sixteen years seems too short a life for a good little friend like Bug.
