At one time this year, the cat population around here was about 12 or 13..I forget exactly. When the offending young ho kitties and their babies were moved to a dairy barn, that left us with just sick old Bernie. I remember distinctly the day that he showed up on the back doorstep, wet and cold with matted eyes. The ex had been in the hospital for a week following a heart attack so we had all been out of town. The day he came home Bernie decided we looked like nice folks to live with and has been here ever since. That was about eleven years ago, and I don't have a clue how old he was when he got here! He's one of those master camo cats who can hide somewhere and you'll never even notice him until he moves. Favorite spots? On top of the refrigerator, in the towel cabinet and under the Christmas tree.

We knew he was sick...losing weight and snoring like an elephant, but he ate well and seemed to be pretty happy with life. This morning Babygirl woke me up and told me she thought he was dying. And, in fact, he was. I've never ONCE heard him meow in all those years. He was a laid back mellow kind of dude who just passed time watching the world go by and tearing open loaves of bread. Guess he liked the smell. We wrapped him up real warm and held him while he meowed himself into kitty heaven. Then we had the burial out under the redbud tree, two women on a mission with shovels and heavy hearts. She was kind of freaked out...all our pets in the past have either been taken to the vet's office and didn't come back, or just disappeared into nowhere like they do when it's time. "I knew it was coming, but I didn't want to see it happen" she said. Hoo boy. Do I ever know THAT feeling.

This one's for you Bernzie....Enjoy the manna. ^j^