My cat just died last week. Barnum was 19, and I had lived with him longer than any other mammal. Longer than Ma Bowser, Pa Bowser, or either wife.

He was a super fellow. Mostly Siamese, he'd go for walks with me, generally travelling about 3 blocks from bush to bush, before he'd turn around and go home.

He trained 3 dogs to respect him, and after soundly beating them up to where they'd cower, he'd snuggle with them. Took 'em a while to get used to it.

He had his privileges, and took advantage of them. He was the only animal allowed on the furniture, and would prance around teasing one hound or another for an hour at a time.

He seemed to regard dogs as supremely stupid, because they invariably led with their noses. Which were soft, and bled easily.

He was my friend. I miss him, a lot. Buried him in the back yard next to Bailey, his first dog, and will cover it with concrete with a slate top, and a ceramic plate which gives his name, date of birth, date of dying, and the statement, "He was the best damned cat he knew how to be!" Bailey has a similar headstone which reads "He was the best damned dog he knew how to be!" They are wrapped in their own quilts with a sealed plastic bag wrapped in more sealed plastic with a story of our lives together and pictures. If anyone ever digs up this property and finds them they will know that those bones aren't just ANY bones - they are Barnum and Bailey. My buddies.

Arf