My mom called me this afternoon to give me some bad news, our family cat, Tiger, died today. He was 15 going on 16 years old. We had him since he was a kitten. I feel sad, but Joe reminded me that Tiger had a good life. We were just saying over the Labor Day weekend that Tiger had the secret to a long life: eat lots, sleep lots, and move slow. He was certainly a portly cat, but none happier. He loved sleeping on the back of the couch and he tolerated all the dogs, including Liam. He loved to be petted behind his ears and going outside at night. Even though he was declawed, he would occassionally bring back a mouse for my mom; sometimes dead, sometimes alive. Surely there is a place in heaven for a cat as loved as Tiger. We will miss him and I glad we got to spend one last weekend with him.