Louie was famous among our family and friends for his love of socks–he would carry them up from the basement laundry room, sleep in our bed with them like a teddy bear, drag them into the living room. He branched out at one point to carrying wash cloths, even dish towels.
Louie was a gorgeous long-haired cat born of a pure-breed Seal Point Siamese cat. His brother Sal was born the same day and we bottle fed both kittens when the mother cat refused to care for them. They imprinted on us and were snuggly, sleeping in our bed, following us everywhere. Sal died four years ago and Louie really never recovered.
Before anyone says to himself or herself, “Why the fuss over ‘just a cat’?” I would tell you this: Louie gave more joy, more love and more comfort in his life than most humans I know combined. He was sweet, even tempered, affectionate and patient. He never hurt anyone, animal or human. He loved our daughter and she loved him.
Sure, he occasionally surprised us in the morning with a cold and congealing hairball in the middle of the hallway, but who hasn’t? He used to pace in circles in the living room for 10-20 minutes at a stretch, but I always thought he might just be thinking of the answer to some really hard math question, or planning how to carry four socks upstairs
at the same time.
The vet loved Louie: she would take him out of the carrier for a routine physical, or to clean his teeth, or to give him a vaccination. Without fail, each time she did, he would purr and sit very still. Maybe he was simple-minded, or kind-hearted or just what we think: a truly exceptional and wonderful cat. What I do know is this: there has to be a heaven, and if there is, he is there. If I knew that I would cross over after I die and not see him there waiting for me with a sock in his mouth, well…then I don’t want to go.
Rest in peace, old man. We love you.
| Louie |
| 14, Sep 2006 |
| Mary |