2005-04-15 - 10:23 a.m.

Howie

Though he only lived in my apartment for a few weeks when my grandmother would visit, Howie was arguably my cat. I called him a puppycat, because he loved to be turned over on his back and then motored across a rug. He would come running when ever I would call him (and he really didn't do this for anybody else). He'd follow me around whenever I was at my folks, and if I would let him sleep on my feet. (Though being very allergic to cats I rarely allowed him in with me at night.)

Last weekend was tough. I went to my folks, and spent some time with the little guy. His kidney failed back in November, so I've been watching to watch him get thinner and thinner.

He loved people. He thought he was one. He hated cars, and would get scared anytime he was outside and heard one. But he loved the back yard and sneaking under fences and the deck. I remember one night when he ran out, and my brother, his friends, and I were all searching for him for hours. My sister came home drunk and started screaming at everybody. I kept telling her that while she was out drinking, we've been going through people's back yards and hunting for him. He knew his way home and would return. And he did!

He wasn't supposed to go outside on his own, but frequently, if the opportunity presented itself, he'd hide in the garage, and then when my dad would leave the garage door open, he'd go exploring. He always would walk to the garage door or back door and then meow to get back in again once he finished whatever it was he did outside.

Whenever I'd visit my folks, he'd run to the door to see me. If my arms were empty, he'd jump up to be held. When other people would come over, he'd frequently do the same. People were interesting to him, and he loved them all, with one exception ... the vet. He hated the vet, and that was the only place or time I've seen him hiss. Once he ran to the neighbor's backyard and was attacked by the dog next door. He didn't hiss or attack the dog, and got beat up badly ... that trip to the vet was OK, he didn't hiss that time. But other than that, the worst place for him wasn't being attacked by a dog, but at the vet.

I'm going to miss him. My brother told me that he died in his sleep, curled up on my old bed.

-=-

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