L. Davyd Pollack

Example 1 (first person)

Cindy

It was back in the summer of fifty-four. The Korean War was over, the economy was doing well enough, and Americans in general were feeling good about their lives. That was the summer Larry met Betty.

Before they met, Larry had volunteered for the army and trained as a cook. It was a purposeful decision that was intended to provide income after the war ended. He never deployed, but his foresight at career planning was 20/20. Right out of the army he landed a job at a luxury hotel as the Assistant Chef. Cooking was something that Larry was meant to do. He would often say—I just have a knack for it. Knack or not, he became Head Chef and worked at that same hotel until he retired.

While Larry was busy building his career, Betty’s family finally had the time and the money to go on a vacation, and it was now or never. She was getting older and wanted to move out on her own. Betty already had a job as a legal secretary and saved enough money to get an apartment with her girlfriend. It was a big part of growing up, especially back then, and it made the family vacation that much more important.

Both Larry and Betty seemed to have their plans in order, and neither included the other. But that’s when fate stepped in and changed everything. Larry was taking his lunch break at the tiki bar next to the hotel pool; Betty was stretched out on a nearby lounge chair taking in the sun. Suddenly she sneezed. Larry said bless you, and the rest, as they say, is history.

A few years later, Mom and Dad were busy building their lives and after that, their family. I was one of the first steps. As the oldest in a long line of four girls, I just want to say that without a doubt, I couldn’t have asked for a better family and it’s all because I had the best parents. It was their support, both emotionally and financially that gave me the strength I needed. I would never have made it through med school without them.

Mom was always sharp as a tack and never let any of us slack off whether it be school or chores. Dad on the other hand . . . Let’s just say that I was nine years old before the reality of spending the rest of my life as Daddy’s Little Princess started to fade away. It was a hard pill for Dad’s little girl to swallow. But in my defense, I wasn’t the only one who figured out how to wrap him around my tiny finger (I’m winking guys), I was just the first. I think it’s fair to say that Daddy’s little girl set a high bar only to be exceeded by each of her successors. All kidding aside, Carla, Cathy, and Celia, out of the four C’s, you guys are the best.

Now, back to me.  A lot happened during those early years leading up to high school, but none of it was out of the ordinary for a young girl growing up. So rather than subjecting you to a premature death by boredom (hehehe), I will skip that stuff which brings us to my last year in high school. I was prodding through life not knowing what else to do with myself because, well, what is a former Princess of the World supposed to do? My grades were always good. Wait. There’s no need to be coy here. Most of you know me, and if you don’t, you probably heard from those who do. I am smart—really smart. But as smart as I am, I had no idea what to do next. Oh sure, I was going to college, but I constantly found myself asking why. Just to get smarter? It didn’t seem like a judicious use of time.

It was just as I was contemplating the question for the umpteenth time that I crossed paths with a chauvinistic and probably misogynistic high school dropout. Interestingly enough, it all happened right there in the crowded hallway just in front of my high school cafeteria. He was trying to convince his girlfriend to join him on the road to nowhere. He used the word dropout many times, and each time it was emphasized like a badge of honor, or something very desirable. The plan was to run away and live happily ever after in of all places—Duluth, Minnesota. She didn’t like the idea very much. In fact, she wanted to stay in school and go to college so that she could be a pediatrician.

He said something to the effect that she was being stupid: girls are terrible doctors, and if anything, they’re only good for nurses. Well, before I knew what happened I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. The war of words escalated and before I knew what was happening, I was going to be a doctor too, and not just any doctor, I was going to be a brain surgeon. On top of that, not only was I going to be a brain surgeon, I was going to be the best damn brain surgeon ever.

It was originally intended as a simple threat to the moron standing in front of me. But the more I thought about it, the more appropriate it began to seem and then, it became a proclamation to all that heard it. I mean seriously. What else is a former Princess of the World supposed to do? Right? Brain surgeon—it made sense to me. God truly does work in mysterious ways.

At this point, I think it’s important to mention something. I know that when a person approaches their passing, they often find a renewed love for God or a completely new awareness that they never experienced before. From the outside looking in it can seem hypocritical, especially for those who don’t believe. While I have never been overtly religious, Darin and I made it a point to bring God into the lives of our children. For me, it’s important because death is so close, and such an important part of what I did to live. Sometimes, there’s nothing else that works. It’s my belief in a higher power that brings me to my next point.

Darin, I loved you always, which in all this, is why I think I’ve hurt you the most. I can say that because I know you’ve loved me and still love our two girls even more. To this day I’ve never admitted it, but I need to now. My mistake was not ours; it was all mine. At the time I was filled with hubris, and the thought of you forgiving any transgression was a foregone conclusion. Forgiving is one thing, forgetting is something else, and I had no right to expect that from you. The one thing, the only thing I would ever want the chance not to do over again, would be that mistake—my mistake.

After the divorce there were men. Not many but there were a few, none of whom could ever really measure up. Darin had set an unfair standard, as a man, a father, and a husband. Nevertheless, there was a doctor, a medical management professional of one kind or another (I think he was a VP or maybe a CEO), and there was even a lawyer. They were all highly respectable, and all respectively inadequate as men.

Then one day my car broke down, and my cell phone battery was dead even though I had it plugged into the car charger. There was a huge problem with the electrical system that left me sitting on the side of the road in a good for nothing $60,000.00 Mercedes. I was feeling pretty damn sorry for myself—angry too. All of a sudden this strange guy starts tapping on my window. It caught me by surprise, but I wasn’t scared, maybe a little apprehensive, but definitely not scared.

He motioned for me to lower my window, I shook my head no. He smiled and asked if I needed help. He said that one of his surveyors noticed I was having car trouble. I could see that they were working on the lot across the street so his presence wasn’t as suspicious as it might seem. I said that my car broke down and my cell phone was dead. I asked if he would lend me his phone to call AAA. He agreed, but I had to lower the window so that he could pass me his phone. I informed him that I couldn’t lower the window: that the car’s electrical system was dead and the window won’t work which was obviously why my phone died too. I was being a little sarcastic, but he was nothing if not completely polite. He stepped back from the door so that I could open it, and then he handed me his phone.

I called AAA and gave them my information. The AAA lady told me that it would be about an hour before they could get there. When I finished my call, I gave the stranger his phone back and thanked him. He had heard my side of the conversation and knew that help was an hour out, so he volunteered to wait until they came. I thanked him but told him that it wouldn’t be necessary. Then I closed the door of my car just to be on the safe side, only to realize a moment later how hot and stuffy it was getting without air conditioning. I didn’t have much of a choice, so I reconsidered the stranger’s offer. He had stepped away to take a phone call, and I took the opportunity to open the door and get out of the car. Shortly after that, we were sitting on the tailgate of his pickup truck talking up a storm and drinking cans of diet coke from his cooler.

Long story short, Jerry was divorced with kids, I was divorced with kids, and we shared one great sorrow in life. It wasn’t the only thing we had in common, but it was a huge starting point. Jerry, my knight-in-shining-armor, spends his days surveying other people’s land so that he can come home and spend his nights making me feel like a princess once again. I love you more than you can ever know, and with every passing day . . . I love you more.

Kate and Jen listen to me. No mother could ever be as proud of her daughters as I am of you. They say a job worth doing is worth doing right and you guys prove my worth. I love both of you more than words can express, and I know that when your turn comes, you too, will know the love and pride I feel right now. If it’s possible to learn from the mistakes of others, please, I implore you, learn from my mistake. You both have wonderful husbands that love you, and just so you know, I love them like sons—be good to them. By the way, there’s something else you should know, the job of spoiling my future grandkids is a job I would not have taken lightly. And while we’re on the subject of grandkids, please try, for grandpa’s sake, one or two boys would be nice indeed.

So here we are. Tell me. Is it coincidence or is it true irony?  After all the support I had from my family, all my training, all my hard work, all the lives I was able to save, and all the prayers for the ones I couldn’t; when it really counted most, the best brain surgeon in the entire country had to step aside and let the second best surgeon operate. Don’t worry Charles. Everyone knows that as we speak, you are the best surgeon in the country. Though, up until my forced retirement, it was highly debatable. Just kidding.

I know that these last few months have been very painful for you Charles. Not for me of course, you’ve had me juiced up on the best pain cocktail imaginable. But all kidding aside, you aren’t only the best: you’re the best for me. I know that if more could have been done, it would have. Now it’s time for prayer. We’ve both been there before, and you’ll be there again. It brings us closer to God, but it comes at a price. We chose this honor, to be able to heal the sickest of the sick and it must carry on. I know you will do nothing less. Thank you, Charles. And take it from someone who knows, you are the best.

They call it The Forgotten War, but without it, there probably wouldn’t have been any reason for all of you to gather here today. As I said, Daddy never did deploy, but he did enlist and was ready to serve his country if needed. It was important to him that while others forget, we girls remember. Daddy we do.

Okay. There is so much more that I could say and I know there are those who should be acknowledged. I’m truly blessed, and the proof resides in the fact that if I did mention everyone, we’d be here until next spring. No one has the time for all that and speaking of time. The time has come for me to say goodbye and tell you that I love you all so much. I will miss the hell out of this life, and I have each and every one of you to thank for it. So for now . . .

Thank you, and Goodbye.

Example 2 (traditional format 3rd person)

John

John Hannibal Doe lived most of his life hating his middle name, that was until the movie Silence of the Lambs came out. As he likes to say, “I wear it loud and proud—it makes people think twice.”

John was born in St. Cloud, Florida, the only child of Gilbert and Leeann Doe. He was eighteen years old before he ever went anywhere, but when it was time, boy did he go places. He enlisted in the Navy because he wanted to be a pilot. At first that sounds like a mistake, but in reality, you had a better chance of flying and flying more hours in the Navy than you did in the Air Force. However, with no college and a sketchy high school record, they decided to make him an A-6 mechanic. The A-6 Intruder was a twin-engine attack aircraft, and according to John, the unexpected career change was the best thing that ever happened to him. They lost three pilots and two navigators. One bombardier/navigator was a POW for three years.

While John served in Vietnam, the Navy found itself running short on avionics technicians, and he was chosen to fill in. John learned to enjoy working on jet engines when he was a mechanic, but it turned out that when it came to electronics, he didn’t have to work hard at all. The learning came easy, and it didn’t take long before he was considered an expert. After the service, he went to work at Eastern Airlines, and when they went out of business, American scooped him up. Both companies truly valued his expertise and John made sure they paid for it too.

In spite of his success, his ego always stayed in check. If you became one of his close-knit friends at work and you were having a particularly rough day, he’d tap you on the shoulder and say, “See that pilot over there? I make three times his salary, and I bring my lunch to work in a brown paper bag.” He only pointed out the snobby pilots, usually after they said something stupid. That’s as close as John would ever get to a braggadocios remark. And when John tapped you on the shoulder like that, you knew without being told that whatever he said didn’t go any further.

John and Abby met in the parking lot at Miami International Airport. They started out fighting over a parking space, but things got better from there. After getting married, they spent the rest of their lives working hard and raising their family. John brought home the bacon and Abby pretty much did everything else. They have two daughters, both of whom John spoils and Abby sets straight.

Then, before they knew it, it was time to retire and take it easy. John told Abby to sell everything and buy a really nice RV, which she did after some arm twisting. They toured the entire United States one road at a time, and when they couldn’t drive, they flew. It took two years and a few months but when it was all over, John brought Abby back to St. Cloud, and that’s where they stayed.

When John isn’t helping his friends fix their airplanes, he’s flying his Cessna 172 Skyhawk. Flying or anything having to do with flying, was never a hobby, it was his life. But that doesn’t mean John can’t find time to relax. His hobbies are bowling and beer. There isn’t anything very complicated about either which is why he likes them. He isn’t much of a churchgoer, but he finds his way there once in a while, though only when Abby or at least one of the girls goes with him. He never attends church alone.

(to be continued)

Example 3

Aristotle (a special life)

T-bone steak, garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots, and a big side salad: my standard menu for Friday night’s dinner. It’s been the same for over seven years. Personally, the salad isn’t all that bad, but you can keep the potatoes and green beans. I don’t think much of carrots either. However, for me, the star of the show is that big juicy T-bone.

If you didn’t know any better you might think I’m incarcerated, or in some sort of medical facility for the infirmed. You know—a place where your menu is set by the day of the week. It’s a feeding schedule that for the most part sucks, except for that one meal where the people in charge try to make up for all the indignities you suffer on a daily basis. They want you to think they really do care, even though to them, you’re just a paycheck. Well, nothing could be further from the truth regarding me.

I’m exactly where I should be, and in spite of everything that has happened, I wouldn’t want to be any place else. The fact that I even know what a T-bone steak is—proves my point. Why? Because unlike you, or anyone else who happens to read this, I’m a cat. The exact terminology sounds something like: a domestic short hair, male. And before I was a cat, I was a kitten, which is where my story begins.

I was only about three weeks old, maybe four. I was out playing with my brother and two sisters when our mother called us home. We all knew better than to disobey when Mother called, so we never did, and we always ran as fast as we could. Mother didn’t like to wait. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and I fell into a hole. It was a really deep hole, deep enough that a little kitten like me couldn’t get out. I tried, I cried, I did everything I knew to do, but I was trapped.

At first, my only fear was the trouble I was going to be in when Mother came to get me. But as time passed my fear became something different, and then, it became all too real.  Nobody came to help me, not my mother, not my brother, and not even my dumb sisters. I cried and cried, and then I cried some more.

That was during the hot day. With night falling, I had a whole new set of problems. I was thirsty, I was hungry, and I was getting very cold. Also, I was alone, scared, exhausted, and just when it couldn’t get any worse, it started to rain. I was stuck in a hole with no way out, and the water was beginning to rise. At least I wasn’t thirsty anymore, but as the water got deeper, I learned a very important lesson. Too much of a good thing isn’t always good. My situation was in fact, very bad, and I couldn’t imagine how it could get any worse, but just then, it did.

It was one of those big creatures. I’ve seen many like it from afar, but Mother always made sure that they never got too close. I don’t know how he found me especially when no one else could, but he did, and I was terrified. I thought the end had come, but by then, I was thoroughly exhausted and had nothing left to fight with. So I did the only thing I could, I closed my eyes and waited for it, whatever it happened to be.

The next thing I knew, I’m in a warm place called home. I was still damp but not wet, and more importantly, not cold. The big creature kept making a noise. Over the years I’ve become very familiar with it, and it sounds like this: Are you hungry? Are you hungry?

Remember, at the time I was a little kitten, so I had no idea what that meant, but as young as I was, I sure do remember that smell. And yes, I was very hungry.

The big guy (as I now refer to him) took something over to the table, and whatever that thing was, it sure smelled good.  Then he turned and came for me. I looked around, but there was no place to run, so I tried to make myself extremely small. I figured if I got small enough, maybe he wouldn’t see me. It didn’t work. He grabbed me and took me over to the table as well.

There I was, face to face with that thing that smelled so good and the big guy was there too. He was holding a knife in one hand and a fork in the other, and he looked as hungry as me, maybe hungrier. Needless to say, I was really confused and—oh yeah, scared. I didn’t know who he was going to eat first, me or that other thing. I didn’t know what to do, so . . . I waited for it, whatever it happened to be.

But instead of coming for me, the big guy started to cut into the thing on his plate. After a moment, there I was sitting on the table with delicious goodness cut into tiny bite sized pieces just right for a little kitten like me. Something told me to be careful, but something else told me to get some while the getting was good. So I did. I reached out and got a piece off of the napkin he placed in front of me. I pulled it close enough to eat but never once took my eyes off the big guy. He started to laugh: turns out he does that a lot. It’s a good thing for the big creatures and not bad for me either. I ate the first piece while the big guy was distracted with his laugh. I ate a second and third too. While still laughing, he cut some more for me and then, he cut some for himself.

Now don’t get me wrong, as time went on I didn’t get to eat all my meals sitting at the table. I had my food and water bowls on the floor, but once a week . . . T-bone. How many cats even know what a T-bone is? No, in retrospect, I wouldn’t change a thing. Mom, you should be proud, your son did well.

Long story short, here I am seven and a half years later. I’m dying of kidney failure and my time is very near. No, it isn’t the big guy’s fault, it just is. For seven years I’ve lived a very good life, but the last six months have been progressively worse. I now ache all over. I’m always thirsty, always cold, and I’m never hungry. He’s tried, but I can’t even eat steak anymore. The time has come, and so this morning we sat out on the patio and had a long talk. It was the first time in my life I ever saw the big guy cry. He talked when he could. I listened and felt the warmth of his love for me as I shivered in his arms. This will be my last day ever, and when the decision was made, I looked the big guy in the eye and said, thank you.

Now before you get all emotional and feel sorry for me, remember something. Yes, my life is on the short side, but it’s been a marvelous run. Don’t feel sad: rejoice in the fact that I wouldn’t trade a single moment for anything else. And remember, I know the meaning of the words, are you hungry? It means a T-bone at the table. It means a safe and loving place to live.

And for the last seven and a half years, it meant home.

But no words can express my love and gratitude for the big guy or how much I will miss him. Let’s just say that I know he’ll miss me just as much, and that will do just fine.

Thank you—Big Guy.

Sincerely,

Aristotle, the cat.

P.S. I also know what ribeye and filet mignon is !-)

Example 4

Cassius (another cat story)

How I met Cassius Clay

The day started out like any other day, except it was raining. In and of itself, rainy days were not that unique and for most people in South Florida, merely just an inconvenience. But I was an air conditioning salesman and to do my job right, I had to check condensers (otherwise known as the outside unit), and that meant getting wet. Sure, I had an umbrella, but no matter how hard I tried I still got wet. It just wasn’t worth the extra effort, so the umbrella stayed in the truck.

For the most part, I liked my job. I made good money and had good benefits. Of course, my bosses were pains-in-the-butt. But reasonably so, just enough that I had the proper motivation to get out the door and go to work.

My base of operation was actually a home office, and my first appointment wasn’t too far from my house. This was a good thing because the less time I spent driving, meant more time to speak to customers. You see, I needed all the help I could get; I’m not the best or most aggressive salesman in the world. But when it comes to AC systems, for some reason, those I can sell. I’m also a terrible liar which made my job much more difficult. Fortunately, I believed in my products and the company I worked for, so lying wasn’t a substantial part of my sales pitch.

It was the spring of 2004, and the air conditioning business was starting to pick up but not overly busy, I had three appointments that day. They weren’t too far apart, and it was easy to schedule decent travel times, even a lunch break. My first appointment was at 10:00 am; my last was at 4:00 pm. I was on my way to my first and was five minutes early—perfect timing.

I was greeted at the door by a pregnant woman, her eight-year-old son and two pit bulls close in tow. The man of the house was not there. In sales, this is called a one-legged lead. That’s because the spouse is alone so only one leg of the decision-making process is present. It’s done on purpose, that way the one-legger can always say I have to talk to my husband/wife before I sign a contract. And while it’s usually true that without both decision makers present, a salesperson may be wasting time; it’s been my experience that the customer has gone out of his or her way to talk to you. And yes, they lied when they said that it’s a good time for everybody to be present. But rather than try to reschedule and risk alienating the customer, I always chose to present my pitch. It’s an abbreviated pitch, but it’s designed to give me the opportunity to impress while at the same time educate. Believe it or not, it worked about 40% of the time.

So there I was, getting ready to do my job. The first part of the process is assessing the situation which requires documenting the condition of the existing equipment. And that meant going outside and getting wet which is what I did. Fortunately, the rain had subsided to a very light drizzle, but it was enough that those in the house chose to stay inside including the dogs.

I went to where the condenser was located. It turned out to be a package unit, the type of air conditioning system where the entire unit is one piece. As opposed to a split system where there are two parts, one inside and one outside. I started to do my assessment and was busy checking everything out.

Shortly after, I was satisfied that I had what I needed, I stood up to gather my stuff and go inside to pitch the customer. It was then that I noticed the small, dark gray kitten with big blue eyes quietly sitting on top of the ac unit next to my briefcase. He was watching every move I made with intense curiosity. I put my hand out, and he let me pet him. He even started to rub his head in my palm as he started to purr.

Back in the house I gave the lady her pitch, and after a few questions which I answered professionally, she bought from me. Funny how that worked out. True story. Not only that, later I found out that her husband told her to buy from the first guy who didn’t try to reschedule and whose price was reasonable. In all honesty, this isn’t how it usually works out. Customers frequently pull the spouse option and then after they ride the rescheduling merry-go-round with the others, they call me back.

After the sale was complete, I was talking to the customer more as a friend than a client. I do this while I gather all my paperwork. It’s a very important part of the sale that greatly reduces cancellations but goes completely unnoticed by the customer, and is usually a discarded step by the salesman.

     As part of my conversation, I happened to mention, “I saw your kitten outside by the air conditioner. He was soaked but otherwise, didn’t seem bothered by the rain.”

She shook her head no and said, “That’s not our kitten. We’re dog people because my husband is allergic to cats.”

     “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed the kitten was yours because I saw the litter box and the cat food on the patio.” I didn’t think it was a poor assumption on my part, but I made it my mistake because that’s what a good salesman does.

     “No. His mother had a litter in the crawlspace under our house, and when she left, she forgot to take him. We’ve been feeding him ever since, but he never comes in the house because of my husband.”

     At this point, it had occurred to me that there’s a slight problem with this arrangement. There were two full grown pit bulls in the house and a small kitten outside. What happens when the pit bulls are let out in the yard? I didn’t want to stick my nose where it didn’t belong because that’s the quickest way to lose a sale, but . . . “I’ll bet that kitten has a really good hiding place for when you let the dogs out.” I was really worried—that kitten was so small, I didn’t even know how he was able to get on top of the ac unit, let alone deal with two pit bulls.

     My customer and her son started to chuckle. She pointed to the dogs and said, “Do you know why those two big dogs are spending their day cooped up in this little house? I’ll give you a hint; it isn’t the rain.”

     “Well, it isn’t that little kitten. They could eat him for a snack.”

     Mother and son burst out laughing, and that’s when the boy said, “They’re scared of him.”

     I looked at Mom, and she confirmed, “It’s hard to believe, but those two big dogs are scared shitless of that little kitten. As soon as they see him, they run right back into the house.”

     I found that hard to believe and said, “Why? He seems so gentle; he let me pet him.”

     Now they were in disbelief, and the boy said, “He doesn’t let me pet him.”

     Then I noticed that Mom had that look in her eye, the one that said I got you Mr. AC Salesman right where I want you. “No, my son’s right. That kitten won’t let any of us get near him, and the dogs are afraid of him because of what he does.”

     “What does he do?”

     “He tries to play with them and ride them. He jumps on their backs and holds tight with his claws. At first, the dogs tried to shake him off, but when that didn’t work, they tried to bite him off. That didn’t work either because he’d jump on their short snouts and dig his claws in deeper. It was really kind of funny watching these big dogs trying to shake this little kitten off their faces. They’d bob their heads and paw at him but the harder they tried, the harder he dug his claws in. Sometimes they would get him off by rolling on the ground. But that didn’t work for long because it just made him jump back on and hold tighter. Eventually, the dog that wasn’t being attacked would find his way back in the house, and the other would just start whimpering. Then we’d have to go out there and pull the kitten off. We take turns getting scratched.”

     Mom was still giving me that I gotcha look when she said, “But he seems to like you. You’d be doing all of us all a really big favor. How would you like a free kitten?”

Now. It’s time for some more information about me. A little over a year before this sales appointment, I lost three cats within three months due to a veterinary screw up during routine dental cleanings. All three cats were given excessive amounts of anesthesia. Every cat reacts differently to the same medical screw-up which explains the three months, but the ultimate result is the same, death. After that ordeal, I didn’t think I was ready to start with another cat just yet, even though my customer, and the kitten seemed to think it was a good idea.

     I was looking for a way to say no and not lose my sale when it hit me. I had more appointments to go to after this one, and there was no way that I could leave the kitten in my hot truck all day. “You know, I’d really like to take him, but I have to work, and he can’t stay in the hot truck. I won’t be done until 5 or 6 this evening.”

     Mom smiled, “Oh, that’s okay. We’ll watch him for you and you can stop back after you’re done for the day.”

     Before I could stop the words from leaping off my tongue, “That would be great.”

     “We’ll see you then. My husband will be so happy.”

And that ladies and gentlemen, is how I met Cassius Clay, the toughest— nicest cat I ever knew.

All in a Name

I showed up around 6:00 pm to pick up the kitten: it was springtime and the sun was still up. The kid was waiting on the front porch for me. I guess Mom thought it would be harder for me to back out if she wasn’t there. She needn’t have worried. I loaded all the supplies the kid gave me including food, litter, pet-soap, even some cat treats. Then, I took the sleeping kitten; he didn’t have a name yet, so I called him Little Buddy. I thanked the kid, got in my truck, and placed Little Buddy on my lap.

At the time there was plenty of clearance between my stomach and the steering wheel. Today, it would be impossible to do. The ride home, for the most part, was uneventful as far as Little Buddy was concerned. He was exhausted, and why not. He had just spent his last day terrorizing pit bulls, and I’m sure he made the best of it.

I started the truck and before I could shift it into reverse Little Buddy opened his eyes and meowed. He took one long look at me, pulled himself up by my shirt just enough to bury his head in my chest, closed his eyes again, and purred himself back to sleep. For the most part, the ride home was uneventful, except of course, for that.

The first thing I did when we got home was take Little Bud to the bathroom for a bath. It was his first, and last, ever. I learned two things that day. One, a complete and utter compassion for those poor pit bulls, I now knew their hell; the blood trails down both my arms were the proof. Two, Little Bud (yes, he was still my Little Buddy) was not a dark gray kitten. He was white, except for two black rings around both of the bluest eyes I ever saw on a cat. With age, those black rings bleed into a two-toned facial pattern, but at that moment, he looked like an amateur boxer who just went fifteen rounds and was looking for more. He had this really cute and goofy expression on his face that seemed to mock me. “Dude, if that’s all you got—I know a couple of puny pit bulls that could kick your butt.”

From that moment on his name was “Cassius Clay.” If the reference eludes you, Google it.

A Good Cat . . . for Me

Cassius (a.k.a. Cash) was a really good cat. Of course, most people will say that about their cat, their dog, their parakeet, or their kid(s)—but ask them about somebody else’s, and you get a different story. It’s understandable because most people are biased towards their own. The main point of this written portrait isn’t to brag; it’s to help me remember years from now when everyone, including me, has forgotten, what a good cat Cassius Clay was.

Maybe after reading this, you’ll agree too.

So at this point, it’s obviously time for me to lament endlessly about all the wonderful and cool things he used to do. Things only I would think are wonderful and cool. And after tolerating one or two of these longwinded tearjerkers, you’ll skip the rest because life is short and there just isn’t enough time. To spare you that trauma, here’s just one that paints a good overall picture:

For those of you who know something about the Green Hornet, you’ll understand the reference; Cash was my Kato. For those of you who don’t know, the Green Hornet (GH) had a sidekick named Kato. Kato wasn’t just a sidekick; he was also the GH’s sparring partner. As a form of training, Kato would launch surprise karate attacks on the GH to keep reflexes and fighting skills sharp.

During our first few weeks together, Cash had a hard time adjusting to my going to work. Let’s just say that I didn’t want to leave anything out that couldn’t be replaced: he had a lot of energy. Eventually, he adjusted to the schedule and turned my arrival home each day into a welcome home smackdown, similar to GH and Kato.

Sometimes he’d be right there at the door ready to pounce. Other times, he’d hide-in-waiting for the hapless sucker who dared to leave him home alone for the day. I would walk around a corner or down a hall not sure where the attack was coming from: Kato would be proud. Cash almost never used the same spot, but sometimes, when he thought it was a good idea, he would. And yes, at least from his point of view, it was usually a good idea.

Cash didn’t like to pull any punches either; his play attack was the equivalent of another cat’s full-on brawl. In his defense, whether he came in low, usually working his way up from the knees, or flew in chest high, he always kept his claws retracted around my face. I never taught him that, he just knew.

One day I came home and walked through the door prepared for anything he might conjure up. My intention was to catch Cash mid-air during his initial frontal assault, or side assault, or whatever. I thought I was ready for anything. But of course, I was wrong. To my surprise, there was no attack. I cautiously peeked around the corner and down the hall. The coast seemed clear, and it actually was. There wasn’t any attack, not in the bedroom, or the bathroom, or the kitchen, or anywhere else. I was beginning to get worried.

Now before I go any further, there are a couple of things you need to know. At the time I lived in a nice house in Coral Springs, Florida. It had a huge great room with vaulted ceilings, ranging from 10-22 feet high. There were built-in custom wall units and plant shelves at various levels with Spanish tile throughout the common areas. Yes, it was a beautiful and spacious house, and yes, you needed a ladder to clean it. And in case you were wondering how a lowly AC salesperson could afford such a house; I wasn’t divorced yet.

Anyway, back to Cash. I spent the next half hour looking for that cat and having no success. Besides guerrilla warfare (his favorite game), Cassius also liked to play hide-and-go-seek. I figured in lieu of an attack; Cash was changing it up a bit by playing hide-and-go-seek-on-steroids. I was only half right. After calling him by his name and all his nicknames, and even trying to bait him out with his favorite treats, I still had no idea where he was.

Finally out of exasperation, I stood in the middle of the living room, looked up and shouted “Cash, where in the %^*^$$%% are you!”

It suddenly got very quiet as I stood there looking up at a cat that was looking down at me with that mockingly-goofy look.

Here’s another relevant design feature that you need to know about. At the peak of the highest vault in the living room, there was a big 10-foot wide skylight that had a framed architectural detail around it. The purpose was to accent the skylight which it did. It was not an empty plant shelf, though, to a cat, it sure looked like one. I guess Cassius decided to fill it with himself. The problem is—there was no discernible way for him to get up that high without literally climbing a wall or two.

Uh-Oh! That’s right folks, if it was made of drywall and had two perpendicular surfaces, Cassius could climb it. While I was standing there taking my sweet time working through this realization, Cash decided to turn hide-and-go-seek into a game of guerrilla warfare. He attacked, and all I saw out of the corner of my eye was a white blur coming straight at me. Reflexively, I ducked.

It was one of the very few times that Cash ever missed me. Instead, he landed on the top of a knee wall and then bounced onto the couch behind it. A short moment later, and as only a cat can do after a major fail like that, he came strutting around the corner acting as if nothing happened. His expression said it all, “You didn’t see that. You think you saw that, but you saw nothing.”

I picked him up and checked him out. He was good to go.

If you look at the picture of Cash sitting while sporting that mockingly-goofy face of his, you’ll see the knee wall that I’m talking about: he’s sitting on it. The skylight is about 20-feet above and to the side a bit.

A Better Friend

When we met, circumstances were such that Cassius needed a place to stay and I opened up my home. The wife and kids were not necessarily overjoyed with my act of generosity but Cash was my friend, not theirs, and he needed a helping hand. I’ll never forget the first night that he stayed with us; he was dirty and tired from being outside for weeks. He took a bath and at some point needed to use the litter box, and that was where he fell asleep. It did little to endear the wife and kids, and quite frankly, I myself have never fallen asleep on, in, or around a toilet. But he did. I knew it was from exhaustion, but they used it as an excuse to ridicule.

 “What are you looking at? You know you would if you could.”

Interestingly, a relatively short time after Cassius Clay’s arrival, the wife turned out to be an ex-wife, and those kids turned out to be ex-kids, she took them with her when she moved away, and I haven’t had any contact with them since, nor have I tried. That might sound somewhat callous of me, but please keep in mind—perspective. Perspective is everything, especially after a very cantankerous divorce. As for the children, they turned out to be hers and someone else’s (DNA doesn’t lie like ex-wives do). And as for the ex-wife herself, there are things one can’t forgive. Suffice it to say, it was a terrible time for me, but Cash was there to help; his unwavering support through the entire divorce was invaluable.

That cat made it a point to know where I was and to have eyes on me 24/7. Cassius wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of cat. His idea of closeness was sharing opposite ends of the couch or being in the same room. But during that time, I needed him just to be there, and he was; right next to me on the couch, curled up by my feet when I sat in a chair, he even made sure he had a least one paw touching me at night when we went to sleep. And it continued for years. He wouldn’t tolerate closeness like that from anyone else, just me.

In the End

His health in the early years was impeccable. He was strong, robust, and full of piss and vinegar as they say. He took crap from no one. He was a fighter. But he had a lingering eye injury that needed professional attention more than once. After the last operation, something had changed. His eye got better, but he took longer than expected to recoup from the operation. He hadn’t lost his fight, but some of that piss and vinegar . . . turned to water.

Then unbeknownst to him or anyone else, including me, he became diabetic. He was the type that suffered his discomfort and even pain, in relative silence; only saying something when it got too unbearable. In this case, he waited too long and by the time we started insulin treatments, a lot of the damage was already done. With the treatments, he improved, and much of his discomfort went away, but the doctor told me that he could live for months or he could live for years, it was up to Cash.

As you already know, his full name was Cassius Clay, and that’s because Cash was a fighter extraordinaire; he was a fighter at the beginning, and he kept on fighting until the end. I know because I was able to be there for him and see it for myself. It was one of the hardest things I ever did. He fought like a champ even though we both knew he couldn’t win.

On April 5, 2018, Cash had multiple massive seizures, one after another without rest until for a brief moment they stopped. He opened his eyes, and he recognized me. There was nothing left for me to do except make him as comfortable as I could, and be there for him the way he had been for me. I picked him up and cradled him in my arms. He looked at me one last time, comforted that I was there. Then, his eyes closed and his tense body relaxed for the last time. At approximately 1:00 am, after just over a year on insulin, Cash died.

Thank you, Cassius Clay, for spending your precious fourteen years of astonishing life being my cat . . . always a great cat—and a better friend.