He was a great cat.
An affectionate head butt-er.
I guess I don't have any digital images of him. That's sad. He and Jasper always seemed to like each other. You know, that Tux had friends and family. He loved Uncle Luke. Come to think of it, he got along with everyone. He just seemed, ummm, well-adjusted. Probably more than any of the rest of us. I know we loved the heck out of him. And he was no spring chicken. (I feel sorry for Jasper.)
We kept them and stopped fostering kittens after their striped brother Leo turned up dead 'in the crib'. It was utterly traumatic. No matter what the vet said about that kind of thing happening from time to time (usually a malformed heart). We didn't try to give them clever new names, we just stayed with their given kitten titles. We were in Maple City on Trumbull Road. Spring of 1998? Dang, he wasn't THAT old then. ~10.
He escaped every now and then, and would show up on the front porch in a panic, screaming "Let me in!" But he didn't make a career out of it the way Buster did. And he didn't fall off the beam, bust up his face, and shed a few lives the way Sammy did. He wasn't drop-dead gorgeous like Jasper. And he didn't stomp around terrorizing the dogs the way Luke did. Tux-a-doodle. He always seemed to be smiling, expecting sunny days and a full food dish.
With his perfect white wing-tips.
Maybe you'll bump into Luke along the way.
Happy trails to you,
Until we meet again.