Hercules was adopted from an animal hospital in December 1996 (my now husband gave him to me for Christmas).  His mother had been hit by a car, and Hercules was birthed by the staff at the hospital.  He was the runt of the litter; he had coccidia, a disease which is often fatal in kittens.  By the time he came to me, he was a healthy 10 week old kitten.  He was tiny... but he grew to be an 18 pound boy.  People would often say, "I see why you named him Hercules!"  But in reality, he was just a baby when I named him that.  He grew into his name... although he was never a tough guy, he was always a momma's boy.  He didn't care for my other cat or my dog (or my husband!)... he just wanted to be held by his mommy.  When holding him in public, I was asked if he was part raccoon, or part bear.  



Hercules was never like a "real" cat... he didn't have any hunting instincts, for example.  I had rats that ran around outside of their cage that Herc just watched.  He walked among my brother in law's birds who cruised around on the carpet, and he fell in love with a hummingbird who lived outside our window (she would fly up to the screen and chirp, and Herc would go running in and sit, their faces just inches apart, separated only by a screen).  For a few years, it was just he and I living together in an apartment.  When I got home from work, he'd cling to me like one of those koala clips that were popular in the 80s.  I have so many happy memories of him and it would take me hours to list those memories.  Sufficed to say, this was not an ordinary cat... this was my son.  It broke my heart when, on October 10, 2008, his 12th birthday, I had to make the difficult decision to put Hercules to sleep.  He had been diagnosed with an aggressive and untreatable cancer just three weeks earlier, and he clearly showed me that he was ready to go.  He will always be the greatest animal ever, in my mind.  I love him so.