A first:  eating dinner on the futon, fish sticks with angel hair pasta, watching an episode of West Wing, and Nekko is not sitting next to Mark.  There’s an empty spot.

A last:  putting the towels she vomited on in the washer.  It was surprisingly hard to close the door and start the washer.

Finding a piece of paper towel we had put under her ear when we pricked it to check her blood glucose.  A tiny spot of blood.  We had lots of those paper towel pieces.  Finding the one we used last, in the bathroom, on the sink. 

Coming upstairs and, out of habit, as I walk into the office/den, glancing under the futon where she spent so much of her time.  Normally, she’d face the room and look at me, acknowledging that I was back.

June 10.  The house seems quieter, larger, without Nekko.  Which is strange, considering that she was a very quiet cat who didn’t take up much room.  She spent much of her time under the futon, and on the futon, occasionally on our bed.  In the morning she loved the sunny spot by the kitchen patio door. 

Walking by the bathroom and the hallway closet, a whiff of canned cat food.  I have no idea where that would be coming from.  I don’t know if we’ll be able to follow through with our plan to transition Bootstrap and Taz to canned food.  For now at least, the smell of canned cat food is so completely tied to Nekko.