Memories of Jethro

Juliet's kitty Jethro passed away on Saturday at the ripe old age of 17. I've known Jethro for as long as I've known Juliet (13 years) and I miss him.

I remember from both my own experience and from Juliet's stories of him:
The day he stomped all over me to claim me for his own.
His self serve petting technique (If you dangled your arm over the chair, then he rubbed his head against it).
His uncanny knack for shedding orange fur all over whatever black garment you were wearing.
His ability to accurately select the people who would pet him and the people who would be most annoyed by his attentions.
His ability to channel me, particularly when I lived away.
His instructing Molly how to catch mice by leaving half dead ones in her room.
The day he scared the pair of caged lovebirds to death.
His six-toed footprints proudly indicating just where he had gotten into mischief.
How well he would play night nurse to Juliet and always knew when she needed him.
His voyeurism of Juliet's lovemaking.
His ability to make grown dogs cower in fear.

But mostly, I remember how much he loved his mommy.

He was a very good boy.