July 23, 2012 § 1 Comment
A year ago today, we lost Lily — the first cat of my adult life, my baby, our little girl.
That night was horrific. We woke up to her meow, felt her body collapse into limpness.
She was nearly 15, and had been with me since she was just six weeks old.
On December 2, 1996. I sat at my desk in the now defunct post house on Sunset Boulevard working away when a call came in to our office.
“There are cats in the kitchen.”
“Cats in the kitchen?”
“Yes, B’s wife is here with kittens. She’s giving them away.”
I knew I wanted a cat, but had been waiting to make sure I wouldn’t be moving any time soon. My fantasy of meeting Mr. Right and being swept into his home had not come true in the 2 & 1/2 years since I arrived in Los Angeles; so I figured the danger of putting a new pet through a sudden second move was slim.
Cats in the kitchen.
Yes! I ran down the hall, down the stairs, down the other hall into the large kitchen that had hosted the likes of Robin Leach, his cigars, Garry Shandling and Phil (Rest in Peace) Hartman. Every one I saw was holding a kitten.
I rushed over to B’s wife and said, “Are there any left?” « Read the rest of this entry »