Ruby Tuesday the elderkitty is no more. She has ceased to be. She has expired, gone to meet her maker. She has, in no particular order: hopped the twig, snuffed it, bit the dust or, if you will, gone on to the great litterbox in the sky.
I like to think that my fuzzy girl is at a certain famous pair of gates, loudly demanding skritches.
So here's to you, o fuzzbutt supreme. It was one heck of an eighteen year run.
Her Royal Furryness, casually being adored in recent times.