goodbye, little bug

The Chairman and I lived together for 4½ years. Before then, I'm sure I never would have guessed I'd live with a cat. And what a cat!

Here he is in 2004, fresh off the streets of Austin, Texas:

So how did it happen? As with so many things, it was all because of a woman. Indeed it was the classic story: boy meets girl, girl wants cat, cat repeatedly bites boy and girl, cat produces stink redolent of the finest cheese. We wanted one with personality, and we got one. Too much personality, perhaps. We adopted him when he was about four months old, from a family who'd found him on the street—we'll never know how he got there, what happened to him, how long he was homeless, what traumas he may have suffered. Some say he's more like a dog than a cat. Others say he's psychotic. I used to say he had some wires crossed. A psychoanalyst I know said that his behavior was "inappropriate." All true. We should have known, too: when we showed up at this family's house, he immediately started biting our toes. But licking, too. Anyway, what could we do? It was love at first sight.

Crazy: evidence below.

But at the same time, he is abnormally (inappropriately, for a cat) friendly, sociable, engaged, and affectionate. He was my little puppy dog. Someone in a Texas veterinarian's office praised my special lady friend and me for having adopted a black cat—apparently black cats often go unclaimed (because people are superstitious idiots)—but come on, this is one handsome devil!

(Predictably enough, he likes to get into boxes, regardless of whether he can actually fit.)

Anyway, the former special lady friend moved out at the beginning of August and for the first time since then has a place of her own, so finally she's come for the Chairman (yes: after more than half a year of just him and me living together in the big city). He's off with her to our nation's capital to become President Obama's Secretary of Feline Affairs (or "cat czar"), and what can I say? I'm gonna miss the little monster.

Most of all I suppose I'll miss his falling asleep on top of me in one or another adorable position.

(cat or rabbit??)

There's not much else to say. It's no fun, saying goodbye—even when it's not a human being you're saying goodbye to. Or maybe more so: I'm actually writing this the night before (as I type he is in pretty much exactly the state documented below), and there's something particularly sad about the fact that he has no idea this is our last night. But what are you gonna do? Divorces are tough. At least he's not a kid!

So long, Stinky. As Zimmerman once sang, you're gonna make me lonesome when you go. (Of course, Zimmerman was singing to a marmot.)

Not a kid, at least.