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76

76 was my best friend. I got him as a birthday present from an animal shelter. He was a tiny, angry, little skin-n-bones runt of a kitten, and had scimitars for claws.

When I took him home in a cardboard box, he curled up and slept. All the orange fur made him look like the giant 76 ball from the gas station. So that's how he got his name.

He spent the first two weeks at our house behind the toilet and wouldn't come out for anyone. He grew up to be an excellent watch-cat. He hated intruders, and absolutely loved me. He would wait at the front window for me to come home on the school bus. Marvelous hunter. He never did get to be as trusting and affectionate as a normal cat--he remained very aloof--but we got along like a house afire. He even became a main character in my comic strip.

Until he was about three, he wasn't allowed outside. But once he got tough enough, we let him out. He would come and go as he pleased, and was never worse for doing so.

One day, mom and I were sitting in our chairs and I looked under the sewing table. He looked like he was sleeping, but I soon found that he had died. We think he was poisoned. My mother says I lost it, screaming and sobbing alternately.

My best buddy for almost five years was cremated and placed in a gaudy urn that I thought the cat might find funny because of his quiet, unassuming nature. We like to think this was the first time he ever got on the bookshelf.

I love you, 76. I'll never, ever forget you. Wherever you are, I hope you find lots of pecans and catnip mice to play with.

Lovingly Remembered by Tiffany Sherwood


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