Our upstairs neighbor's cat, Tux (a.k.a Mr. Tux) was killed this weekend in a tragic accident. I've never had a pet in my life, and I've never really found any cats that I was particularly fond of. But Tux was different. We liked to say that Tux was a cat that thought he was a dog; he was always full of mischievous playfulness and cuddly friendliness. He was equally happy chasing a piece of string or a set of keys as he was nuzzling against my fingers or curling up in a lap. He loved to stretch out on the grass outside and show off by rolling over when he'd catch one of us looking at him. We'd find him napping in our planters or on our porch chairs, and if we ever left our front door open even a bit, we'd find Tux merrily trotting back to our third bedroom, or rolling over on our kitchen floor, or trying in vain to get up on our dining room chairs. Tux was fun and friendly, and never failed to bring a smile to my face. I loved him like my own pet, and I'll miss him tremendously.
Edited to add: Lynn was talking to Angelo Jr. upstairs, who observed, "We could all learn to be a little bit more like Tuxie." I couldn't agree more.
