To the careless driver (who probably lives in my neighborhood) who ran over Elektra late Saturday afternoon: thanks a lot for killing my favorite cat, asshole.
Lori and I adopted Elektra along with her sister, Athena, as kittens shortly after we moved into an apartment complex in Austin in 1997. They've both been with us ever since; we've taken them all over Texas with us, from Austin to Lewisville to Denton to my parents' house to Lori's great aunt's house in Sagemont to our apartment in Midtown Houston to our current home. They've been part of our lives for so long that life without them will be difficult and empty. Unfortunately, that emptiness has begun.
Unlike her solitary, easily-annoyed sister, Elektra was affectionate and social. Lori oftentimes remarked that Elektra acted more like a dog than a cat due to her friendliness; she never met a human that she did not like. She didn't merely rub someone's legs; she would hop up and "bodyslam" them. If she really liked somebody she'd twist over and flop herself on top of their feet and look up at them with her yellow eyes. She rarely hissed or growled, as her sister is prone to do. Instead, she'd purr and meow in a sweet, soft voice. She never really liked being picked up - she would whine in protest everytime she was held - but she was always looking for a hand to pet her or a lap for her to fall asleep in.
Elektra was patient and even-tempered. She tolerated Hermes III as an energetic kitten, when Athena did not. She tolerated Kirby as a curious toddler, when Athena did not (and, unlike Hermes, she never tried to bite him when he pulled her fur). She got along with my parents' cat Orestes and Lori's parents' dog Cash.
Pets really are part of someone's family. When they die, a part of the family dies. It is with great sadness that we must bury Elektra. We will miss her greatly.