The hardest part about having older cats is watching them decline. That's how it was with Simba. He was an excited, energetic cat, that often meowed for attention. He was one of the "downstairs" cats, which spent most of their time in a room in the basement, along with a connection of DYI catios outside. In particular, he really enjoyed sitting on the shelf inside the outdoor kitty house... the place where he and his sisters were born. He didn't really come upstairs much. He'd come say hi for a few minutes but then decide he was done and go back downstairs. That all changed when he got older, and we started losing his sisters. That was when he started hanging out upstairs on a regular basis. It was sad to watch him lose weight and slow down. The photo at the end, where my husband is holding him, is my last picture I have of him. Miss ya, Yellow Boy.

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