Kit was 23 years old — almost 24 — when she died. She was with me almost half my life and added more to it than I can possibly say.
I’ll never forget how readily she adapted when she first came to live with me. She had a sweet and gentle disposition, which is what I will remember most about her. She was always friendly to visitors who came to my house, but she reserved a few mannerisms or gestures of love exclusively for me, such as lowering her head to my lips for a kiss and gently placing one paw on my knee whenever I sat down near the bed to put on my socks and shoes to leave the house for a while.