I was moving in June of 1995 and as I brought furniture in, this scrawny black tabby walks through the door and jumps on the couch. He was sick and weighed all of three pounds. I had never lived on my own before and here I was 1200 miles from my family. It only seemed right to let him stay. I walked to the nearest store to get some food for him, and nursed him back to health on 3 cans of 9-Lives a day. From that day forward, Jingles was my partner. He returned the favor when I was sick with a ruptured appendix and ovarian cyst. I passed out on the concrete of my apartment building and when I came to, he was lying by my head. He shredded a mans leg who had come into my apartment when I was in the shower. He never fought me when I asked him to adjust to new surroundings or living conditions. Two years ago we moved in with my fiance's (at the time) parents house and there were a number of times that they would tease me and tell me that Jingles lived better and had better care than most human beings. They laughed because I always put him as my number one priority even over my husband. God how I will miss him, I never imagined a life without him and it hurts to say goodbye.