Adrian Astur ÁlvarezOn Tuesday, December 6th, in the afternoon, just after lunch, without warning or illness, Darby Crash died. She and the other pets had tickets to come join us in Spain on December 17th, but she'll never know that.
We rescued Darby after she was found mangled in a Dell Taco parking lot in Los Angeles, CA. She had been run over by a car and her rescuer didn't expect her to live, but she did. She was named Miracle, an incredibly lame name so we changed it right away. She was so funny and scrappy as a kitten. Naming her after Bobby Pyn of the Germs just felt right.
She could jump higher than any other cat, she loved to cuddle on my lap, and she was devastatingly dumb. She couldn't smell, she could barely see, and she annoyed Scotia Jones, our other cat, all the time.
She loved bananas and making clicking sounds at birds through the window, and she liked sucking your finger until you rubbed the top of her nose or scratched her tongue. She slept on my head every single night she could get into our room. I'm allergic to cats but I just didn't care when it came to Darby.
In her final years, Darby spent her days snuggled up with Swamp Ape in a heated bed. She grew very affectionate with me, she probably felt bad about slowly strangling me to death with her dander. Or maybe she just loved me as much as I loved her. This is a sad day and I'm going to miss her for a long time.