When I first moved in with an old ex he had two cats. Toast and Goatee. The year was 1995 I believe and Goatee was a youngster. He was a Norwegian Forest Cat. Big and Beautiful! He loved to cuddle and purr and be rubbed and scrubbed. I remember one night he came up to me in bed, snuggled right up to me and put his arm around me and spooned me. Seems like a weird thing for a cat to do, but he did.
He was about two or three when I met him so that would put him at about fifteen when he passed. My dad told his doctor the symptoms and Goatee most likely had congestive heart failure. He really is missed by everyone.
Scott took this picture of the Goats when he was in the middle of a yawn. Too funny. For the last few years Toast and Goatee have lived with my parents, or what Scott referred to as the Retirement Home for Kitties. They were better off there without Cornbread torturing Toast and Goatee constantly trying to kill Ricky.