Little Samantha was just a wee kitty, about 4 pounds. She lived around the corner, and was around 18 years old I was told. I spent some time petting her one day; she crawled onto my lap. She was so sweet, with a scratchy little meow, and her body was really just a skeleton covered in longish black fur. I asked the owners about her and they told me she lived outside, all the time. Cold days, rainy days, everyday, outside. It kind of broke my heart. So I asked the next door neighbor about her, and thankfully learned that she fed her every day. I just got back from Florida, and the neighbor lady called me to tell me little Samantha went to kitty heaven. I had a good cry, and now I wanted to post this little tribute to wish her little soul a swift flight to the great beyond where it's warm, and she sleeps inside every night by a fire in the most beautiful cat bed, snuggled among flannel and cotton after a nice plate of sardines. For anyone that may read this and think that cats should live outside all the time, I'd encourage you to reconsider. Once domesticated, they should be inside at least when it's cold. Rest in peace, dear Samantha. You will be missed.