Well…. Damn. My cat’s dead.

I’m not really a cat person: I like medium to large-sized dogs that you can play frisbee with or hike with or wrestle with… but this little yellow longhair  tabby has been part of the family for 18 years and when I came home and found her lying there all still I got a lump in my throat.

Damn, she could be annoying as hell. But she liked to sit next to me while I was working at my desk, and she greeted me every morning (and sometimes in the night for no good reason) with that meow that sounded increasingly like a rusty hinge these last few years. She was a good mouser, and she liked my kids. She was the queen of the house, a grumpy old lady who liked sleeping in the sunbeams and grew increasingly brazen the last few years — standing on the table top while we were clearing it off after dinner, for instance. Maybe we all get more stubborn and determined when we’re older.

I’m going to miss little Camilla. Hell, she’s been our cat since before we were married, back when we had a dive apartment and a sequence of crummy first jobs. Even though mostly she’s been sleeping for the last three years, in retrospect it was nice knowing she was somewhere around. The house will seem a lot more lonely without her.

Now I’ve got to tell the kids, and pick out a nice spot in the yard to bury her. Near a tree, maybe, where the sunbeams will fall in the afternoon.

Howard