Jasmine was rescued from the streets of Brooklyn in 1989 when I was 17. I had always wanted a cat but couldn't because my mother was allergic to them. So when I moved into my own apartment, the first thing I set out to do was get a cat. Jasmine was the runt of litter and always remained a kitten in size and attitude. I think this helped perpetuate the idea that she was not getting older. She was always playful (especially with a q-tip) and the only way you could tell she was ageing was if you checked her mouth. She had no teeth! This did not stop her from being a ruthless hunter of mice when we lived in the city and birds when we moved out to the burbs.

I'll miss seeing her waiting by the porch door, her singing when she caught her prey, the way she would take her front paws and place one on each side of my face, when her tongue would partially hang out askew, how she would only drink cold, filtered water from the refrigerator, the way she slept amongst the flowers... I hope that's where she is now, asleep in a bed of catmint, endless q-tips for her to play with and constantly purring.