"He was just a cat."

"You treat him like he was human."

What did they know?  When a soft furry creature has been part of your life for the past 17 years, you can't help but feel blessed for having him around.  He was more than a member of the family.  André "Fat Boy" came into our home as a three-month-old kitten.  His previous human was Vinton's high school classmate.  We were glad to have him as company for Pierre, who was saddened by the loss of his brother Jean-Tom, who ran away with a kitty friend and never came back.  Andy didn't stay a kitten long -- he grew so fast and big that he was soon pushing Pierre around.   He was quite a handful.  I recall those cold nights when those two would sleep at my feet.  Andy soon became the cat of the house when Pierre passed away, a victim of feline leukemia in 1988.

André loved the outdoors -- he was always sunning hisself in the backyard every chance he could get.  Only on rare occasions would he stay outside overnight.  After Merly and I got married and moved out of the Bay Area, we decided to let him stay in San Francisco, due to her uneasiness with furry creatures.  He only got over his fear of children in his last year, too old and slow to run away at the pitter-patter of little feet.  He soon discovered that the kids weren't a threat after all.  At his peak he weighed as much as 16 pounds.  

He seemed to have 9 lives.  So many times Verne would take him to Dr. Stroe and he each time he'd cheat death and come back from a surely fatal illness.  But every cat has his limits.  André's came at the middle of June, when after steadily weakening from the ravages of kitty cancer, he could bear it no longer.  He was so weak he couldn't even keep his head up.  Andy must must have communicated to Verne that his time was up, so Verne had to call Dr. Stroe to put Andy out of his misery.  It was all over in two seconds.  The old warrior decided to pack it in. 

Verne was still shaken up when he called to give me the news.  He had just buried Andy in his favourite hunting grounds next to his partner in crime, along with my first cat Fidelio.  Seventeen years is more than enough to ask from a cat.  And for those 17 years, he was the bestest cat in the whole wide world. 

Goodbye, Andy Ray.  We hardly knew ye.

If you'd like to light a candle for Andy Ray, please click here.