Oliver is my childhood cat. My very first memories at age four had this cat in them. I say my cat because he bonded to me most out of the five in my family. Oliver lived on through my elementary, middle, and high school. I parted with him when I went off to college. In my third or fourth year at college Oliver passed away. He was 19. I still miss him dearly.

Oliver was a good cat. He followed my older sister home from 2nd grade one day when he was a kitten. We couldn't find his owners, so we took him in and named him after the cinema orphen. He was slightly dumb as cats go, but that made him such a good cat. He didn't jump on counters or get into things. He didn't play very much. When he did, it was such a delight. He was an excellent hunter, though, and kept the neighborhood free of moles and chipmunks.

Toward the end of his life, he developed some kind of cancerous growth in his neck, which led to spasms. The photo above was taken less than a year from his death. The corners of his eyes are a bit runny, and he is fur is a bit grey (he used to be much more orangy). Oliver is burried in the flower garden next to Missy, our first dog.