Ernie (1995-2011)

The Chief Executive Officer (cats have staff, you know) is no more.  He lived a happy life of 16 years, although this year saw him become an old cat, sleeping more (he would have said "conserving his energy"), less adventurous (he would have said "been there, done that"), moving more slowly (he would have said "What's the hurry?").  A recent cat fight - the first all year- probably overstressed an already-weakened heart (that no one knew about), which led to pulmonary edema and then more heart weakening and more edema - a vicious circle with no good outcome.

I will remember
    = his appearance, from wherever he'd been, to supervise any gardening that took place near the brook
    = seeing him dash across the yard and a few feet up a tree, simply to prove that he still could do it
    = having him lounge on the tarp that covered the stacked wood while I labored to stack more next to him ("Ernie, could you help a little bit, please?")
    = the loud meowing at 9pm, demanding "Where's my ice cream?"
    = his ability to hear, from any part of the house, the sound of cheese being unwrapped
    = having him planted at my feet during dinner, waiting for his teaspoon of salad dressing, and hoping for a piece of broccoli, asparagus, or (believe it or not) brussels sprout
    = right after we moved to Churchill Rd, seeing him leap three feet in the air to take down an inattentive  robin in flight (why couldn't it have been a starling?)
    = and, back in Bloomfield, taking late night walks with Ernie on his leash - who was walking whom?

Ernie's life revolved around food (including the occasional rodent snack) and comfort. His worries were the Churchill's barn cat and cat-chasing dogs.  He was a good traveller (on an empty stomach) and a great companion.

Would that throughout our lives we could always be well-fed, comfortable, with a chance to travel, friends by our side, and only a couple of worries.