Joey is deceased.
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Joey [a.k.a. Itsy-Bitsy-Bopper, da Bitty Bop, Bopper]

My 'dumpster' baby. He and his littermates were deposited in one of the garbage dumpsters of the apartment complex I lived in at the time.
After resolving a brief bout with parasites, he's been a happy little Bopper ever since.
As a kitten, Joey used to want me to hold him next to my neck while he slept. I used to wrap him in an old shirt then tie the sleeves behind my neck so I could keep my hands free and carry him like a little, fuzzy papoose. Now, he's too big to bundle up like that, but he still likes for me to hold him on my left shoulder while he sleeps. Of course, I often get cramps in my left arm from holding him there, but I got used to it.
Like Blackjack, Joey slept beside me almost every night. If he could get away with it, he'd sleep on me. Joey is the cat after which I've modeled a major feline character in a novel I'm writing. He's just an especially cool cat.
April of 2000, Joey had a lump on the side of his neck. The vet says, "Cancer. Terminal. Inoperable." As the cancer grew it surrounded his windpipe. It began to kill Joey by slow strangulation. In late August I could tell it was getting difficult for Joey.
Joey's remains are in an urn sitting on a shelf next to the urns of Sugarfoot, Simon, and Vanessa. He was a very good little Bopper.

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