Fred is an extremely dignified barn cat. He's the color of the dust around here, a rose gold in the sunshine, a dull gold on an overcast afternoon. I was thinking about Fred because he'd been sick, his belly swollen, his other parts getting skinny. I'd noticed this for about two weeks, but first thought maybe he was becoming fat from the left-over Thanksgiving turkey Bill kept sneaking him. But I'd also noticed that he was listless, and would even let me touch him when I fed him--an intimacy unthinkable in our usual round of days.

Earlier this afternoon after writing "(my emphasis)" in the above section of this essay, I went out to check on Fred. I found him lying in the patio chair. He didn't raise his haughty head when I came out nor did he jump down and stalk to a reasonable distance as usual. He let me stroke his head and run my hand across his belly. He was hot, and his belly was blown up like an overinflated basketball.

I took the dusty cat carrier from the rafters in the garage. I opened a can of his favorite cat food, put on my gloves, and when he walked slowly to the cat food I got him, and put him in the cage. (This could never have happened if he'd been well, he's much too fast for me.)Then  I took him to the Veterinary Clinic, where he'd never been in his 5 or 6 years. After tests, the Doctor said Fred was old for an outside Tom, and that he was a very fine gentleman, and that he'd never recover from a cat virus I've never heard of, and that it would be best . . .

When the Vet described how Fred would die if I just brought him home--I thought maybe he'd rather just die in the sunshiney driveway where he liked to lie--or maybe we could wait, I suggested, until Monday, give him another few days.

"He might crawl off, get under the barn, and suffer more," he said.

"Best give him the shot," I said.

So, I took Fred to make him better and now, he's gone. And I will miss him, because he was a big handsome tough guy with green eyes, who made me laugh. I couldn't go on writing this paper without honoring Fred in some way. So, this has been Fred's obituary.

RIP Fred (and forgive me), December 12, 1998.

This isn't Fred because we never had a phot op. but this is Fred's look. He was this color, without the white, bigger and with a big mustache, but this cat, "Oliver" is a soul brother. . . he has the attitude. p.s. Fred would never, EVER have worn a collar.

Visit a page to help with the loss of your pet.

http://www.netwalk.com/~copydoc/petloss.htm

Judith Van: email me at, jvan@asu.edu