SlickSlick. Slickster.  Sweet Baboo. Bud. Sweet Boy. Handsome face. Grumpy Pants. Grumpy McGrumperstein. Daddy’s Little Hunter. Momma’s Boy.

We called you countless names throughout your life. Mostly because it was fun. But you were always Slick. It was a name chosen when – on the day I found you – you were so tiny (and covered in fleas) that you didn’t have much balance. You tripped over your own feet and I kept saying, “well, that was slick now wasn’t it?” It stuck, and it was fitting. We narrated your life by giving you the voice of either Stewie or Cartman – whichever one best fit the day.

You grew into the most handsome cat with the biggest personality. You were long and lean, svelte and dignified. You had a stunning black coat with a few patches of white on your underside in the perfect shape of a happy face. You hated it when I wanted to show it off, but I did it anyway.

Your eyes were mesmerizing; they showed so much emotion. Just by looking at your eyes I knew when you were happy or mad, when you were “hunting” your toy mouse or when you had just woken up. In the end, your eyes revealed just how much pain you were in.

You were the perfect puppy-cat. You played fetch up and down the stairs and you followed me around the house. Sometimes I walked in circles around the living room to see how long you would follow me. You’d eventually get pissed and either attack me or just stop and wait for me to circle back around. You were so devoted to me. It took you a while to accept Mr. Kozi as your dad, but you did and you loved to snuggle with him at night.

For 13 years, 3 months, and 18 days, you were *the* constant in my life. You arrived at a time when I had no business taking care of another living being. I tried to find you a good home. I didn’t realize at the time that you already had one. It turns out we needed each other – not just then, but your whole life.

The last three months have been hard. You stopped eating at the end of June. Four types of dry cat food, and several types of wet, later, you still didn’t want to eat much. After taking you in for updated blood work, your kidney disease-related numbers had jumped so much from your March readings. Your lifelong kidney issue had turned into full-blown kidney disease and eventual failure. Over the course of the last two months I had to give you so many medications so many times per day. You had to have fluids given subcutaneously twice a week by the end. We would visit your vet, “Aunt Brooke”, weekly for over a month (which really pissed you off!). When we’d get home you would walk about the house trying to find daddy to tell him the horrible thing mommy had just put you through.

(Thank you to Brooke Davis, DVM, and the staff of Deerwood Animal Clinic and of San Jose Beauclerc Animal Clinic for taking care of our boy. Your kindness and loving care are everything we ever wanted for our only son’s medical team.)

Through it all – all the pain and the medication and the having to give you fluids – you always still wanted to be by our sides. You snuggled with one of us every night (which didn’t always provide for quality sleep for us, but you sure liked it). You couldn’t get enough of sleeping on my lap in the evenings when we were just hanging out on the couch.

The last few days of your not-long-enough life were spend doing all of your favorite things. You got as much canned tuna juice as you wanted. You had as much outside time as you wanted (even in the rain under the umbrella). Even though it may not have had the same effect as it once did, you had plenty of catnip.

Umbrella Slick cropped

My life will never be the same. There is a hole in my heart and in my life that can never be filled. I will forever hate walking into my house because I know you will never be there to yell at me for leaving you alone. The silence will be deafening.

Slick, thank you for being my cat. It was a true honor being your mom.

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