Vegas and Windsor

My moms cats. Mine now. We picked them out together at the humane society. My step-father had been sick and the doctors said he'd have to be in a home. He never liked cats. On the farm he grew up on, all they did was kill birds he said. Two years after my dad died, my mom remarried and our cat went to a new home. So, 32 years later she decided to get a cat. She wanted the company. She decided on brothers, 4 months old, and named the orange one Vegas and the grey one Windsor. Their two favorite places to gamble. They helped her during the last few months of my step-dad's life, and death. She made me promise to take them if anything happened to her. Five years later, they moved in. Now they keep me company. I wonder sometimes what they remember. Or do they remember? Maybe they hear her voice when I talk, remember her hands when I pet them or dream of her when they fall asleep on my lap. I know one thing for sure, as long as their with me, I think of her.