Jazz was our box-cat. Any empty box on the floor became a home for her.
Even ones she couldn't get all of herself into.
She liked to jump up and stretch out on the back of my chair and if I invited her, she'd come down to my lap.
I don't know what she was thinking when she curled up in a bathroom sink one day but I know if we had turned the water on that scowl would have gotten fiercer and she would have fled.
She was a good little cat. And she stayed little all her life. As Blackwell evolved from a scarred up tiny kitten into a big, brawny male cat . . she seemed to grow more and more terrified of him. But that's over now and we will remember our sweet Jazz.
So now it's time for the crocodile tears to end. After all we still have two cats.
Big old Blackwell.
And his playmate, the lovable Muggles.