Later that spring, I remember Kitty playing on the rooftop: it was a flat roof covered with gravel. She could get out there through an upstairs window that Dan would leave open for her.
I remember Kitty lying in the sun on the roof, with the cool San Francisco fog blowing in in the late afternoon.
In Belmont, I remember Kitty exploring the back yard. She still slept on Dan's bed.
When we moved in together in San Francisco in 1995, Kitty's box was in the kitchen. She would occasionally lay out on our narrow balcony, looking west towards the Sutro Tower.
Dan had one of the posts of his bed wrapped in heavy twine. I remember Kitty clawing her way all the way up the post; Dan would usually say "Get it, Kitty!" while she raced upwards.
I also remember how she could play for hours at a time with a shoelace. For years, most of the doorknobs in our house had shoelaces on them just in case she felt like playing.
I will always remember the sound Kitty would make when she dragged her pig around the house.
I remember the occasional expeditions that her pig would make: to the side porch in San José, to the back patio, and (more often) to the water bowl. The pig would also travel to the dresser if no one could sleep due to excess pig dragging noises.
I remember Dan noticing that Kitty instantly knew that the big brown metal box at Salmonberg was a fridge, where the food lived.
I remember Kitty lying in the sun at the front of the house in San José, on top of the side table, with the window open, in summer. She'd chatter through the screen at the birds playing on the front lawn.
I remember buying Friskies Ocean Feast and Friskies Senior wet food, often.
Whenever I'd open a new can of food, I remember Kitty coming running, excited to have some of that good stuff from inside the can.
I also remember cleaning up after Kitty whenever I made the mistake of trying new food.
Similarly, although she was recommended special food by the vet, she never took to it.
I remember the one time I gave Kitty a bath, in San José. She was most emphatically not amused. Later on, I used the rest of the shampoo on my beard, over one summertime.
I remember my cat Bianca living with Kitty, but only just. I can't believe they lived together, but they did.
I remember how, on some evenings, I would be lying in bed, reading, with Kitty dozing at my side. Then, when Dan's Pathfinder would come home, Kitty would run to the front door, excited about the prospect of seeing Dan again.
Sometimes she'd even sneak into the bathroom while Dan was in the shower and wait for him on the bathroom rug.
I remember how Kitty loved sitting on Dan's shoulder, purring. She still does, although now she can no longer get up there by herself.
I remember how she tolerated a few weeks staying in John's house while his cats ran free in the rest of the house. Kitty stayed in our room, uncertain about what was going on.
I remember Kitty sneaking around the tulip beds at the house in Mountain View, on the prowl.
I remember the time she caught the mouse in our laundry room last summer.
There was also the mysterious parrakeet head that materialized in our living room in San José a couple of years back.
I remember all the times I'd look out the window and see Kitty dozing away on the doormat in the sun.
More than anything else, though, I remember how much Dan loved her.