This was my brother's cat, Krypton. I think he was a Maine Coon, or at least that's what we've been told he looked like.

His name was Krypton, but we nicknamed him "Monkie" for two reasons - one, because he climbed all over everything, like a monkey, naturally - and two, because he was a fighter. Like a monk, sort of. My brother preferred his nickname spelt "Monkie" to help depict the image of a monk.

As you can see, he wasn't very old. We're not sure what happened to him, as we let him out on Thanksgiving and he never came back. We didn't see him on the road, so all we can assume is that it was part of the Washington wildlife... I guess it comes with living in the middle of nowhere.

Christmas present for my brother. He deeply appreciated it - he said that once he held the frame in his hands, he could finally let go of him and say goodbye. Krypton's death didn't make him cry until then, because somehow he knew it was going to happen.

The only other time I've seen my brother cry is when, upon us first coming hear years ago, Krypton didn't come back after a whole day, and he thought exactly _this_ had happened to him.