Buddy Cat

My cat Buddy died today. He was on the balcony with Maggie sleeping on a chair. My mom found him on the ground nearby.

I knew him for 12 years, the cat of my childhood, my adolescence, and my early adult years. I will now recount some memories.

At the old house, he brought me garden snakes. I'd see him through our den's sliding glass doors, green snake in mouth.

I tapped with two fingers on the sliding door; he stood on his hind legs and stretched his paws toward my tapping.

There are two ways to carry Buddy. The first is to cradle him like a baby. The second is to support his legs as his arms arch over one shoulder.

I sang to the tune of Tony the Tiger, "Buddy-cat, you're more than fat... you're fat!"

Meal time call: "Kitty Chow Chow, Kitty Chow Chow!"

Daniel and I rolled him into a cat burrito with just a big blanket.

He weighed 16 lbs.

Vernon was shocked when he saw Buddy a couple years later. He had gotten much bigger.

He would come to piano room when I played. I like to think he listened.

On Sundays, I would read the comics and give Buddy a walk. Those days were hot, and the concrete felt good.

Buddy was a good cat. Bold, intelligent, and independent. May he rest in peace.