Goodbye my Friend


So goodbye my friend I know I'll never see you again

But the time together through all the years Will take away these tears

It's okay now… Goodbye my friend.

(from a Linda Ronstadt song)


I lost one on my oldest and most true friends today.

Louie passed away at the age of 14.

It is unbelievable how much he and I have been through in the span of 14 years. When he and I were introduced he was smaller than a can of coke and had to be fed with a dropper. He was so small that we didn't know if he was a male or female, so we named him Louise after a dear friend of mine who had passed away almost a decade earlier. She was the reason I began to associate with felines in a roundabout way, but that's a long story for another day, or not. Shortly thereafter all his hair dropped off and the vet said he had ringworm. The vet assured me that only in very rare cases was it passed on to humans and usually only to children. I still have the scar near my belly button where he marked me for life. Shortly after that I accidentally pulled the blankets tight one night and he flew against the wall. He would have nothing to do with me or anyone for approximately 6 years after that. Yet I loved him still.

He has followed me all over the country. From my house in Sugar Land, Texas we moved to two different homes in Garden City, Kansas. When I moved to Lakeland, Florida he came down early to make sure he approved. It was during that three months together, just him and I that he finally found it in his little kitty soul to forgive me for the blanket incident six years earlier. He remained with us in Winter Haven, Florida and eventually migrated to the two homes in Georgia. Seven homes in fourteen years. When we met I was a single unengaged man of 26 years, a lot has changed but he was a constant. The one thing cats hate more than anything is change, I think eventually his attitude was where and what next?

His breath stunk like a grocery store garbage bin and he had an un natural fascination with water. Lou seemed to think that the water coming straight from the faucet has to be better than anything in a bowl. He could have just had a natural aversion to dog spit, I'm unsure. He had an ungodly howl that would drive you insane, especially at 3 AM. Yet I loved him still. 

I just hope wherever he is now that someone will turn the faucet on for him.  

Sorry for getting sentimental about what some would consider a silly old cat, but he was my friend and I love him still. 











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