He's 12 now.

We got him a chenille throw. He loves to knead soft things and lie on them. He
loves it and has claimed it already. A good gift for a senior citizen cat, I
thought.
It's weird to think when we got him. I was a workaholic with a houseful of kids
and a litte league mom & den mother. He was cute, but I already had Cherokee
and didn't have time to pay much attention to him, or his littermate Luke.
(Luke was a wanna-be Siamese who died from FeLeuk in 1997, Yoda's brother). He
was actually Cody's cat. You can tell by his name. Cody used to fold his huge
ears down and say "Force be with you, Luke". He kinda looked like Yoda.  He
collected other names, too; one was "Otis". Because he would sleep in the
carrier with the door open, like Otis on Andy Griffith. Then there is Yo, Yo
Man, Odie, Double-Yo-Seven, The International CAt of Mystery. The kids taught
him all kinds of bizarre tricks. He used to actually know sign language for
treats. He was fascinated with water, and many of my dollars went to the City
water department because the kids would leave a faucet running or flush the
toilet solely for Yoda's personal entertainment. He used to dig on the bathroom
mirror when it was fogged up. Which led my daughter to believe he had artistic
talent (she'd just read "Why Cats Paint") Yoda was presented with a set of
organic paints. He never got sufficiently inspired to use them. That was
another mess I got to clean up.
I wasn't much attached to him. He was the kids' cat.
It was Yoda, wearing his little purple-flowered collar with pearl sprays in the
bride's chosen colors, who rollled around on the ground at the pastor's feet at
her outdoor wedding, then was startled by the clapping & music and tore down
the aisle in front of them making everybody laugh.
It was also Yoda who mourned when his "daddy" left for Marine boot camp. He
laid on his bed for days. He was injured in boot camp and got discharged, and
came home after a few months. But Yoda had turned. He would have little to do
with Cody. He was my cat now.
He almost died in 2000 from Hepatic Lipidosis. He is a big, bulky cat and lost
down to skin and bones. All the hair fell off his neck. His back legs wouldn't
work and he dragged himself into the closet, I think to die.  I think that's
when I realized how much I loved that cat.
Now Yoda is as much a part of my regular day as DH. More, really. DH works 12
hours a day, and I can't work anymore and rarely leave home. We talk a lot.
Lately about his daddy's inability to make good decisions, but that's another
story. Yoda understands totally. I tell him lots of stuff. He goes outside in
the morning and likes to lie on my car in the sun. He's scratching it because
his jumping skills aren't so good anymore, but I don't care. He comes in and
loves it when I get his blanket on the couch and turn on the TV or pick up
needlework.
If anybody actually made it all the way through this tiresome, too-long post,
thank you for reading.
Happy Birthday, Yo Man.

Sherry