The Greatest Cat, Ever.

When I was 13 years old, a little grey kitten walked up my driveway. I asked my parents if we could keep him, but, since we packing up the car to head out on a weekend-long volleyball tourney, the answer was "if he is still here when we get back, we'll talk...". I scooped out a small pile of dog food, hid it under the parked car to keep it dry, and we left. When we got back home, that little grey cat was there, full-bellied and looking for more. 
Timpleton, named after the fat, glutenous rat in Charlotte's web, died today. He drove with us from Clearwater, Fl to New castle, De. He lived in West Philly and on both sides of the Hudson River Valley. He became a farm cat late in life, learning to hunt mice, birds, and chipmunk. He scrapped with New Hampshire's fiercest barn felines, and camped outside to protect young pigs from hungry bear. He returned to city life  when we moved to Rutland, Vermont and spent his final days in the suburban-esque stylings of Clarendon. 
Thank you, Timmus, for all that you gave us. You were loved by many, rattled the allergies of few, and will never be forgotten.