An Easter surprise from Vilma

Front of the Easter card
from Vilma

I received an Easter card from my friend, Vilma. It was a colorful, cheery card with nine boxes. Each had a hand-cut image of flowers, hearts, a cross and a moon. Each cut-out featured a solitary word: Hope, Love, Faith, Renewal, Gratitude, Grace, Peace, Joy, Laughter.

The card brought tears to my eyes. I've known Vilma for nearly two decades. We met at church, not long after I'd buried my father. I remember walking into the Saturday night service, seeing a man kneeling toward the front. It was cool, and he was wearing a white wind breaker, just like my father used to wear. I remember grabbing my husband's arm: it was as if I'd seen a ghost. The ghost of my father. His hair was the same curly, gray and white thick mass that Papa had; his shirt, the same flannel plaid. And his glasses. They were the same as well. I couldn't take my eyes off him. After Mass, I walked over and asked him if I could hug him because he looked so much like my father. With Vilma looking on, a big smile on her face, he opened his arms and held me. From that moment, we were friends.

After we moved my mother to an assisted living home near us, we brought her to church. Vilma and Jerry welcomed her, too. I shared a photo of my father, where he and Jerry could have been twins, and we reminisced about the greatest generation and the similarities in Jerry and Papa's lives. Jerry was in the Pacific during WWII and it scarred his gentle heart. He couldn't speak of it without tearing up because he couldn't understand the willingness of people to be cruel to one another. My father refused to talk about it at all.

When we celebrated Mom's 80th birthday surprise party, Vilma and Jerry both attended. Vilma brought some old family photos and after the party, we sat with Mom and were amazed at how much Jerry and Papa looked alike as young men. I knew that if Papa were still alive, he and Jerry would have been great friends. Their Italian heritage, strong Catholic faith, love of family and Depression-era upbringing would have been the bonds that bind two people together for a lifetime.

Vilma's photo
from our church directory

When Jerry got sick, my husband and I often brought communion to our dear friends. They were always so grateful for the comfort and companionship. Other times, Vilma and I chatted on the phone, and my husband and I always tried to help them with little tasks that were too great during Jerry's final illness.

Right before Jerry died, my husband and I visited him in the hospital. He was supposed to be sent home under hospice care and Vilma was naturally distraught. I'd seen my own mother go through similar circumstances during my father's long, steady decline through nine months of hospice care. Jerry was determined not to put Vilma through that. He closed his eyes and didn't acknowledge anyone or anything around him. My good bye to him was like losing Papa all over again. I kissed him on the forehead and whispered, "When you get to heaven, please tell Papa I said hi." He just nodded, never saying another word.

Vilma and her
Christmas tree

After that, my husband and I often visited Vilma, trying to help in any way we could: changing light bulbs, moving things, assisting with computer needs, putting up and taking down Christmas decorations, taking her to doctor appointments and church functions, to name a few. Mostly, it was just spending time with her. After her soul mate died, Vilma was lonely. She spent many hours on the phone with her brother. She was always on the phone with her sisters, who lived in Georgia and California. She also talked to her beloved niece, Tammie, who visited Vilma as much as she could. She had a cousin in Italy, Sajmo, that she called often, too.

Vilma was very spiritual. She had a rosary next to her chair, and she often prayed to the blessed mother for her intentions and those of her friends. Some of her favorite intentions included her children and grandchildren, for whom she prayed relentlessly. She also prayed for her friends, and for the world, in general. She never missed a chance to go to Mass and was a very faithful parishioner of several local churches.

Me and Vilma

Vilma was a feisty lady. I love that she always asked for what she needed, when she needed it. It might have been something simple or something more complicated. I just appreciated that she asked, and I told her so. It was her stubbornness that allowed her to remain in her home as long as she did. She never shied away from getting what she needed, and at age 89, that's a great thing. I wish my own mother had been that open to having help. Once, I came over when Vilma had worked herself into a nervous frenzy over something. I asked her if I could make her a cup of tea. When I brought it to her, she almost cried. She said, "This is just what I needed." It was simply, the simple things that made her happy.

When Vilma became unable to stay by herself, her son and daughter-in-law welcomed her into their home. They had invited Vilma to live with them many times, but her stubborn Italian pride kept her from accepting. She would often say, "I'm happy to know they want me, but I want to stay in my house, near my friends."

Friends were something Vilma had plenty of. When she became unable to drive, she used the phone to stay in touch, keeping tabs on her friends and praying for their needs. Over the last two years, she lost her brother, Pip, and her sister, Shirley, and her cousin, Sajmo, all of which were hard on her. Each loss took a toll on her, and she grieved them with faith and tears.

After Vilma moved to Georgia, there was a void. We didn't talk as much because she was adjusting to her new life, making new friends and spending time with her family. When we did talk, it was bittersweet. I missed her, she missed her friends from home, but she was happy, and didn't seem lonely any more.

Vilma called me in late March to tell me that she'd sent me the Easter card, but that it was returned because she had the wrong address on it. That was the last time we spoke in this life.

When I said I received an Easter card from my friend, Vilma, what I didn't say was that the card was hand delivered to me by her daughter-in-law, at her funeral a few weeks after Easter. It's taken me two years to gather my thoughts and reflections about a woman I loved dearly. Those nine spaces on the card conveyed the promise and gifts of Easter: Hope, Love, Faith, Renewal, Gratitude, Grace, Peace, Joy, Laughter, as well as the gifts of our friendship.

Inside the card
from Vilma

Inside the card there was one more cutout, with a heart above the word, Blessings. The message said, "Wishing you all the blessings that life can hold on Easter and always." And she signed it as she always did, Love, Vilma.

In this final encounter, as the congregation sang Amazing Grace during the procession at her funeral  Mass, I held the card in my hands, smiling through tears as I realized that Vilma had given me more than just "all the blessings life can hold on Easter and always." She shared one of the most valuable gifts only a beloved friend can share: the promise of the resurrection, and the assurance that I will, one day, see my friend, Vilma, again. Her final blessing to me was a reminder that our souls will be rejoicing together in heaven with all of our loved ones.

In loving memory of Vilma Sarracino
November 17, 1928-April 18, 2018

Doing that hard, right thing

John D. McDonald's character Meyer tells Travis McGee that the right thing to do is usually the hard thing to do. There are lots of philosophies espousing why the right thing is usually the hard thing, but this "right thing" feels so wrong. On April 12, I had to do that unbearable right thing for my remaining cat, Little E. It was most certainly the hard thing; I'm still praying that it was, in the end, the right thing.

Little E was actually christened Edna (after the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay), but quickly became Little E as her companion adoptee, Ezra Pound (after the poet Ezra Pound) affectionately became Mr. Pound. Adopted together from the Johnson City/Washington County Animal Shelter in March 2001, Mr. Pound and Little E were not related by blood, but by love from me and Dave.

Little E, the early years

There were so many cats in the shelter that Saturday afternoon. I had my eye on a beautiful Siamese kitty who was in the first cage to my left. I wanted to give them all a fair shake, so I walked on by, knowing I could go back to get her. As I walked by a set of stacked cages, a little skinny paw reached out and grabbed my shirt. I turned to look and saw a tiny tuxedo cat. Not quite a kitten. Not quite a full-grown cat. She came right up to me at the bars, pawing through to keep me engaged. I made the quick mistake of opening the cage, allowing her to practically leap in my arms and start nuzzling me and giving me head butts and kitty cat kisses. Her purr was so loud and constant, I was completely overtaken by emotions. Only a few weeks before, I had to do the right, hard thing for the cat of my young adult life, Slim. She was a tuxedo cat, and I didn't want another one to remind me of that pain.

I peeled the needy critter (soon to be my Little E) off my shirt and put her back in the cage to continue my walk. But I kept going back. Each time, she would come straight to me, head butt my hand through the bars on the cage, and purr, purr, purr. And, just like that, tuxedo or not, she purred her way right into my heart.

Little E (left) and Mr. Pound
in one of their few poses together

Little E and Mr. Pound came home with us the next day, and so our new set of adventures began. Little E had the worst breath--another constant throughout her 16-and-a-half-years. Her teeth were in terrible condition, something the vet said was hereditary. But that cat could purr. You could hear her motor across the room, and she purred constantly. However, once we got her home, that sweet, little loving kitty from the pound didn't exist. She wouldn't let us touch her. If I reached out to pet her, she cringed and ran. If I was successful in catching her, she would scratch and claw until I let her go. Dave and I would laugh through all the years we've owned her that she duped us to escape the fate of a shelter cast-off.

Little E was extremely skinny. The first time off the leash in the back yard, she squeezed right through two of the fence slats into the neighbor's yard behind us. She really didn't know her name then, or even much about the neighborhood. I'm sure we looked ridiculous, carrying an empty leash, yelling for a cat.

Little E (far right) was never one
to shy away from a nap

In the house, Mr. Pound quickly established himself as my cat, and the alpha cat of the premises. Little E, I thought, seemed content to let that happen. She took on the role of the family "dog." If the doorbell rang, she growled to alert us, and ran to the door to fend off unwanted visitors. She begged for food at the table (well, anywhere really) and loved almost every single human food she tried--especially pizza. She was an active player and hunter. Every day, she would search for the Catnip Mousey Guy (CMG), catch him in her mouth and cry until we acknowledged her conquest. Then she'd drop him and take a bath. She always had beautiful, soft, luxurious fur that she kept clean through multiple daily baths--usually taken in the middle of the night while we were trying to sleep.

Little E loved to sit
on my sewing projects (2015)

It wasn't until we lost Mr. Pound in June 2015 that I noticed some changes in her. She suddenly became a lap cat. Yes, the cat who wouldn't let anyone (almost anyone) touch her started following me around. Sitting on my lap every time I sat down. When I was sewing or embroidering, she would paw me to crawl up in my lap, and she would sit there on me or behind me while I worked. When I was working on the computer, she would scratch at my legs until I picked her up. At night, she would lay on me or next to me and if I fell asleep on the couch, she would paw me until I got up and took her to bed.

Dave and I have marveled and pondered over this change. While I've enjoyed and come to cherish the companionship Little E provided after Mr. Pound's death, her overwhelming love has made me feel guilty, at times, because this sweet little cat who chose me played second fiddle to a more affectionate cat almost her entire life. As a single cat, she was at peace and, for once it seemed, at home.

Little E enjoyed the outdoors.
She's checking out the frozen ground (2014)

Two weeks ago, she became sick. When I got her to the vet, it was serious but they didn't know what was causing the infection. Toward the end of the week, she rebounded and started acting more like herself. Purring, eating a little (not enough), playing and hunting the CMG. At the follow up visit, the vet said she was dehydrated and had lost too much weight. The next few days were tormenting because that right, hard thing was looming over every other event.

By the beginning of the following week, Little E stopped eating. She would paw at me, and I'd pick her up and put her on my lap, pet her while she purred and fell asleep.

By Wednesday, even though she'd be in my lap, she would continue to paw me. She would sit there, but wouldn't relax as she had before. It was then I noticed that what she didn't have was her tell-tale purr. It was also then that I had to decided to do that right, hard thing because my little girl cat was no longer ok, and wasn't going to get better.

As a pet owner, you always know that time is going to come. When it does, however, it still takes your breath away. It is a tremendous burden to choose to end a life. A life that has brought so much joy; a life that has enriched your own on a daily basis. I have never wanted to make an animal suffer. I have also never wanted to make the right, hard decision to put an animal to sleep. With Slim, the vet told me that it was time. With Mr. Pound, other forces spared me from having to choose.

One of my last pictures of Little E.
She's laying on my legs, stretched out
on one of my quilts. (Feb 2017)

The word euthanasia comes from the Greek, meaning good death. Our vet is one of the most compassionate people I've ever met. And, as with Slim, she and the entire staff, all came in to say good bye and offer condolences. The tech, Dina, who was the only person there that Little E liked, cried as much as I did when she took her final breath. Was her death good? It was painless, I pray, for her. I can't say the same for me. It does little to heal my heart to have been the force that stopped hers. It is an unbearable burden, somewhat alleviated by the fact that she chose me to be her human.

I'm still looking for her: catching myself peering at the space reserved for cat faces on the patio door when they wanted to come in; listening to hear if she scattered a mouthful of crunchies on the floor; stumbling in the dark early in the morning or heading to bed at night, wondering if she is under my feet; bending down to fill her water dish when I brush my teeth. It will take time to stop these behaviors, I know. And each day that passes, I pray the pain will subside and I'll be able to think of her without tears or second-guessing myself.

I'll never know why Little E chose me that day at the pound. As a tribute to her memory, I will choose to make the most of the love and joy she provided as the cat of my middle age. Did I do the right thing? All I can say is that I know I did one of the hardest things I've had to do, and I am trying to convince myself that it was the right thing.

RIP Little E
March 2001-April 2017

Apply fact-avoidance theory to life issues

(Note: I'm sending this to the local newspaper today. Again, I'm betting that my conservative viewpoint won't make it in the paper, so I'm taking advantage of self-publishing on my blog to vent.)

I couldn't agree more with the headline from a recent op-ed by William McCorkle featured in the Saturday, Sept. 3, edition of the Greenville News stating: We have moved on from the truth.

It's been decades since science concurred on important issues. However, the lack of consensus is more about political and financial gain than it is about fact avoidance. Let's review McCorkle's hypothesis. He says: “The overwhelming majority of those who have spent their lives studying climate say that climate change is absolutely happening and that human involvement is a major factor.” He then condemns the nay-sayers who pontificate on their blogs, Facebook pages or other social media. He also gets in a good dig to “the partisans” who dismiss conclusions of the scientific community. Granted, he criticized the right and left (although the left to a lesser degree). His conclusion, however, is right on target: “To realize that when we do this collectively it puts the society and environment in danger.”

So I take McCorkle to task. Can he and others like him agree there is probably no greater example of this reckless avoidance theory than that of life? Scientists have supported the fact that life begins at conception, yet, for decades*, the subject has become a point of political contention. Based on the facts, and the consensus of the scientific community, how can anyone deny that “a fetus” is not a child at the moment of fertilization? There are those who will espouse, as McCorkle says, the theories of nay-sayers, when, in fact, they are being fed a line of propaganda based on deception for political and financial gain.

Many of our politicians and their supporters now advocate abortion up to the moment of birth. In fact, partial-birth abortion (medically known as intact dilation and extraction), which many on the left support, actually induces labor for delivery. The baby's head remains in the birth canal, the skull is punctured and a tube is inserted to extract the brain so the cranium can be removed easily. This procedure is avidly supported by Hillary Clinton and others like her, who also want to prevent life-saving measures for babies actually born live before or during an abortion.

A truly studious person would ask why we tolerate such barbaric behavior? Why is there such a divide on life issues? I point back to the very same reason McCorkle mentions in his argument about climate change and thinly veiled rant on Republicans: “We have seen this unwillingness to accept reality on a more dangerous level.” Planned Parenthood denies that they are an abortion mill, and because politicians and the main stream media report the news as it suits their own agenda, many Americans buy into the rhetoric. Make no mistake: Abortion is a multi-billion dollar industry, which we now know profits from selling the parts of dismembered children. And yet, we stand by and declare this to be an issue about the rights of women.

The bottom line is McCorkle is right in his declaration of societal danger, yet the concept is only applied to his own way of thinking. This is the current fallacy of politics. Facts have become obsolete in our society. The truth is something we ignore and cast aside until it no longer matters what the truth is.

We need to stop McCorkle's assertion that “all of us reject reality at times if it does not align with our desires or interests” from becoming our own truth. And the truth need to be applied equally to all issues, not just those we cherry-pick for our own agendas. Climate change, abortion and many other issues need serious consideration outside the sphere of political influence and financial benefit.

*Just one list of such scholarly articles and references

Affordable Healthcare Act not so affordable

(Note: I sent this letter to the editor of the Greenville News on April 7, 2016. Since it's been so long, I've decided to self-publish--because I can--the letter myself.)

I must take exception to the op-ed in the Thursday, March 31, edition of the paper where Pamela Roshell, Region IV director for the federal Department of Health and Human Services, provided a one-sided view of the Affordable Healthcare Act (ACA). She stated, “Virtually every American has benefited in some way from the ACA, whether they realize it or not.” Take a look at some of the most recently released data and decide for yourself:

• By the end of 2015, nearly one third (30+%) of innovative health insurance plans created under the ACA are out of business. Many of the companies providing coverage are also leaving the marketplace in many states (UnitedHealth, Humana, Blue Cross Blue Shield, Aetna). This directly impacts cost and opportunity to find competitive pricing for insurance.
• The National Association of Insurance Commissioners, as reported by the Washington Post, indicate that more than 50% of the co-ops are in financial trouble.
• In 2014 (most recent information available), more than 214,000 doctors (25% of the total number of active professionals are reported by the Kaiser Foundation) opted out of the ACA exchanges, leaving many patients without care or access to affordable care.
• While nine million more people do have insurance, there are still 33 million Americans (mostly poor) who do not have any coverage. The Kaiser Foundation reports that the 48% of the uninsured opt out because they can't afford premiums.
• The uninsured still burden the emergency rooms (ERs) of hospitals, who are forced by the ACA to treat patients. In May 2015, USA Today reported that 75% of ER physicians have seen surges in patient visits since the ACA was enacted—the opposite of the law's intentions. Some of this is due to habit, and some is due to lack of access to primary care physicians, but it is still an issue.
• In October 2014, the National Bureau of Economic Research issued a report through the Brookings Institution that showed premiums in the market (those who wanted to “keep their health plan”) grew by 24.4% compared to what they would have been without the ACA. And, that the premiums rose in all but six states.
• In October 2015, Bloomberg reported that rising premiums for ACA coverage (the government's plans) increased anywhere from 10 to 25 percent. In several states where first year pricing was mismanaged, premiums decreased.
• In Feb. 2015, CNN reported that deductibles, co-payments and drug payments are higher under the average ACA silver-level plans -- the most popular -- than employer policies. That was echoed by Forbes magazine in December 2015. The Obama administration claimed, Forbes reported, that the ACA has provided more people with health insurance, and slowed the growth rate of health spending. The facts, as reported by the Obama administration's Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS): All of the disruption, spending, taxation, and premium hikes in the ACA has reduced the percentage of U.S. residents without health insurance by a mere 2.7 percentage points.
• The economists at CMS went on to report in Health Affairs that the growth of national health spending in 2014 was 5.3%, the highest rate since 2007. Their own analysis: “The return to faster growth was largely influenced by the coverage expansions of the Affordable Care Act.”
• In 2014, U.S. government spending on health care neared $1.4 trillion. That cost is more than $4,500 for every man, woman and child in the country; far more than needed to achieve universal coverage in a rational, market-based system.

And now, to the bottom line that everyone remembers. Contrary to the popular statement by the president, “If you like your plan, you can keep your plan,” those that were able to keep their plans (like myself), were only able to do so at a much higher cost. I choose to keep my coverage because of the unreasonable, and costly, prescription drug co-pays within the ACA. (For the Silver plan, co-pays are $13 for generic, $47 for preferred brand and $89 for non-preferred brand. Mine are $5, $25 and $35.) Added to that, the premiums for the ACA plan comparable to my own plan were about $10 a month less expensive, but the out-of-pockets expenses and co-payments were so much higher, I would have spent more than an additional $3,000 by going with the ACA. And that's after taking into account the higher premiums paid for the non-government insurance.

The president also claimed that the ACA will “lower premiums by up to $2,500 for a typical family per year.” I don't know about you, but that has not happened for me. In fact, my costs are higher, and premiums continue to increase in low double-digits every year (from 10-12 percent.)

The 2015 Forbes article summarizes the entire healthcare law debacle best: “It is harder and harder for champions of Obamacare to ignore the plain truth that this misguided law has increased premiums, a burden borne by millions who have to buy coverage in that market without the benefit of taxpayer subsidies and by the taxpayers who must bankroll subsidies for those who qualify.”

I believe our healthcare system needs a huge overhaul—from top to bottom. But the ACA as it is currently enacted is not the solution. For Roshell to just blindly tout the one-sided party line that everyone has benefitted from the ACA is inaccurate and misleading. For those who have benefitted from the law, I'm delighted. I hope it continues to help those in most need. However, for the middle class that continually gets squeezed in entitlement programs, the ACA just isn't working.

Common sense losing ground to ridiculousness

(Note: I read Kathleen Parker's op-ed this morning published in the Greenville News. I've been unable to access it online there, but it was in the WAPO today--see paragraph 7. In it, she says that the Benghazi committee has done nothing but persecute Hillary Clinton, and all that has been uncovered is that she was hackable. 

Knowing how ridiculous that it, I had to zap this out in response to her inane conclusions. I doubt the paper will print this--although they have surprised me before--so I'm self-publishing to vent my outrage and disbelief.)

Whoa! Just read Kathleen Parker's op-ed from Tues., Oct. 6, about McCarthy and Hillary Clinton where she writes: "The Benghazi hearings that led to the private server, that led to the 30,000 emails, that led to the FBI investigation that thus far has led only to the conclusion that she was hackable..." Seriously?

That's all? How about this, for starters: 

1. She lied about why she needed/wanted the second server,
2. She lied about the classified documents on the second server,
3. The second server was in the bathroom of a private residence; this server being the one that the U.S. Secretary of State used to transact classified government business a
4. She lied about the timing of the second server 
5. The FBI reported finding 188 emails containing classified information 
6. She also lied about being subpoenaed by the Benghazi committee. 
7. Must I go on?

So, all we know is that she was hacked? Right.

Are we becoming so short-sighted that we can't even acknowledge the lies from a politician? And when the truth isn't what we want to hear, are we truly that callous that we turn a blind eye, a deaf ear (thinking of the Planned Parenthood situation here)?

If a Republican says there is no global warming, the media jumps all over it, using data, facts and figures to rebut the statement. But let Hillary turn the entire Benghazi debacle around to make it a witch hunt about herself (forgetting that four Americans died while our country stood by and did nothing, then lied about it) and the pundits are tripping over their own keyboards to get the word out that she has been take advantage of, because, after all, she was only hacked.

We have got to gain some perspective. I just hope it happens before the 2016 election.

Still missing my guy

I'm still in mourning for my little Mr. Pound. I've made this "tribute" of some our more recent adventures. It makes me cry, it makes me miss him a little bit more, but it makes me smile, too. He was such a fantastic pet and companion for the last 14-1/2 years.

Every girl needs a cat

I've said it for decades: Every girl needs a cat. And every cat needs a girl. Mr. Pound (Ezra) was my cat, and I was his girl.

My heart is now broken and I am inconsolable as I try to come to terms with life without my beloved boy cat. There aren't enough words in the English language to express the profound sadness and sorrow in my heart. He filled such a big space in there, with his little black and white face, and perpetual smile. A good natured little creature I'm convinced God made just for me.

Since March 2001, he's been my guy, my best boy. In the last 14 and a half years, there are lots of Mr. Pound stories. But my favorite is from the first night he came home to Greer, South Carolina.

I got Mr. Pound and Little E (Edna) at the Johnson City/Washington County Animal Shelter. I tried looking at the Greenville County shelter earlier in the month of March, but there were no cats. Odd, but then, as Arthur Koestler postulates, there are no coincidences. My father had just died (Dec. 2000), and I'd just lost the cat of my early adulthood, Slim, in Feb. 2001. Along a twisted T.S. Eliot vein, my life is measured out in cats (rather than coffee spoons).

My first cat, as a very young, pre-school aged child, was a beautiful Siamese named Pongy. According to the stories, we were inseparable. I vaguely remember him, but suddenly he was gone. I do remember asking my mother, day after day, where the cat was. I asked and asked and my parents told me they'd given him to the painter, Mr. Miller, who has recently finished some work at our house. I didn't get it: Why would he get my cat? I didn't find out until years later (decades, really) that he'd had to be put to sleep.

My next cat was another Siamese named Iam. She really belonged to my older sister, but once she went to college in 1969, the cat became mine. She was a lovely and loving cat. I don't recall how her name evolved to Keegie, but Keegie and I spent countless hours together. I hated bringing her that smelly cat food every night, she was a treasure that I cherished. Keegie and I were both 12 when she died. She crawled in her bed and stretched her legs out as far as they would go. When we took her to our beloved vet, Dr. Gene Reynolds, he told us that it was her way of keeping the blood flowing to her internal organs, which were shutting down. I still have Keegie's collar in my desk with a love letter I wrote to her. And it still brings tears to my eyes to think about how hard it was to lose her.

In early October of that same year, while listening to the top 40 on AM radio, my younger sister and I heard an ad for Siamese cats. We started our relentless nagging routine and Mom agreed to take a look. Once we got there, we found two kittens. We immediately fell in love with them and when Mom asked about the cat, the lady said we had to take both of them. What was she going to do? It worked out better, in a way, that there were two. One for me, one for my sister. So we got them both.

I named my cat, the male, Pim, after Anne Frank's nickname for her father. My sister named her cat, the female, Liat, after the character in South Pacific. The kittens were so much fun. They quickly grew to love us as much as they already loved each other. Pim slept around my neck like a fur collar. He would sit on my shoulders as I roller skated, and would ride in my bicycle basket. Precious cargo. He followed me around like a puppy. Once they got older and were banished from our bedroom at night, they would get in their cat bed and wrap around each other. They would curl up and you couldn't tell which cat was which. The summer I graduated from college, Pim became sick. He was only nine years old then, but Siamese males were susceptible to kidney issues. Dr. Reynolds nursed my cat back to health, snatching him from the jaws of certain death.

The following August, I moved to Miami to teach school, and in April of 1983, I got the tearful phone call from my parents as they broke the news that Pim had to be put to sleep. I still cherish the picture I have of me getting ready to move to Miami, standing in front of my overpacked car, holding my dear Pim in my arms.

Liat was so distraught after Pim's death that for more than a year, she cried and wailed for him. It was almost too much to bear. She lived to be 12, I think, but was never the same cat she was when they were together.

In 1986, Slim entered my life. Anyone who knows me as a young adult knows how special and loved that cat was. The joy we shared was truly special. In our early days, during a long distance relationship, Slim would travel in the car with me. I'd open the door and she'd hop right in. Later, she hated the car because it meant going to the vet. Slim lived to be 14 and a half before she was put to sleep in Feb. 2001.

And now, full circle, to Mr. Pound. The night I brought him home, my husband and I let the cats our of their cages so they could scout out the premises and get used to their new digs. We let them wander around for a few hours. When it was time to go to bed, I found Little E right away, but Mr. Pound was missing. They didn't know us (or their names) at that point so I got panicky. My husband said to relax, he was getting his bearing in his new environment. So I got ready for bed and when I pulled back the covers on my side, there he was.

Every night since Mr. Pound and I cuddled at bedtime. I don't know how someone could have ever given that cat to the pound. He was so loving and so sweet. If I lay on my right side, he'd tap me on the shoulder with his paw until I rolled over on my left and opened my arms. He'd crawl right in and lay against my head, gently purring and finally settling down with his head under my chin, until we both fell asleep.

I'm not sure now how I'll get through this sorrow without Mr. Pound. How will I be able to fall asleep without his gentle, constant purring, those rhythmic sounds of satisfaction and contentment. How will I pass his pillow at the end of the bed where he would nap with his front legs crossed, or find him sprawled on his back in his favorite chair? How long will I walk by the door and look for his sweet face, waiting patiently to come inside? How can I survive without his head butting and generous kitty-cat kisses?

These last 14 and a half years seem monumental to me and also, strangely, mundane, in that the sameness of our existence was comforting. It was the norm, it was our life together in an every day continuity that I am not ready to give up. I will cherish forever the pattern of familiarity, the joy of him being my cat. The wonder of me being his girl.

In loving memory of Mr. Pound (Ezra)

Entrusted to my care
March 2001-June 2015

In my heart
Forever