So yesterday was the last day that I had medication for Elvis and I was going to drive to the vet to pick up more, but Cynthia had forgotten to leave me the car keys.

I only gave him half of his dose so as I wouldn't have nothing at all to give him today, but he immediately started acting wonky. I have no idea if one had anything to do with the other, it happened too suddenly. He spend most of the day on my lap.

He didn't eat that much, but he ate some and drank some and went to the litter box, only every time he went over to the kitchen to get any of these things, he would lay down flat on the ground to rest before getting up and coming back over to me.

Today he was much the same, though he ate his breakfast and had the rest of his medication, towards the end of the day he abandoned my lap and went to his spot in my room. I could keep my eye on him from my desk, and he seemed fine. Later, I was watching the Grammys and writing my little recap, when I looked in on him and he did not seem fine. His breathing was bad, but what caught my attention was the fact that his paws were all twisted up.

I went in and started petting him and kissing him, and he was gasping and drooling and making noises and stretching his head up. And then he stopped. I told him not to go, but he went anyway. I was ready three weeks ago, but I wasn't ready now.

I called Omar and wept in his ear. I went upstairs and wept on Fran's shoulder. I wrote a weepy note to my notify. I left him lying there for a really long time, because when I would look at him from my desk, it just looked like he was sleeping. Then I wrapped him in a towel and put him on the back porch. I'll bury him when the ground thaws.

It occurs to me that Milo died 2/20/01, Eggs died only three days off from the second anniversary.

In 1988 I was living with Greg in Brooklyn and we had Monty and Milo, and having gotten two cats two years in a row, I was aching for another one. I went to the pound, as opposed to North Shore, and all I knew was that I wanted a kitten for once and that I didn't want a tabby, because I already had two of those.

I had never had a kitten before, except for Oliver when I was a kid, and he was too little and the dogs accidentally killed him. Always, always I was one of those responsible people who saves an adult cat, but this time I wanted to be selfish and get a kitten.

And there were kittens! A litter had just come in of six-week-old babies, and several were tabby so I didn't even look at them, and one was black and white, and I grabbed him like lightning. I think they charged me $50.

I brought him home and he toddled around the apartment, using the cat box immediately, freaking out Monty and Milo, though soon Milo was mothering him and curling up with him and washing his face.

I remember we left him in the living room that first night, and he started crying in the dark, so I called to him, "In here! In here, baby!" and he found us and clambered up onto the bed. I thought he was the smartest kitten who had ever been born.

We named him after Elvis Costello. He grew very big, very long, like a basketball player. And he was the sweetest-natured cat you ever met, though weirdly afraid of feet. I always said that he had no time to get afraid of feet before we got him, and I know that I didn't spend that much time booting him energetically around the apartment, so I don't know where that came from outside of his tiny little cat mind.

When Greg and I broke up, I kept all of my boys. Elvis had two ear infections where they had to drain the pus out of them and he ended up with weirdly folded ears. They gave him character, I assured him, but he never seemed self-conscious about them.

Once I lost him and thought my heart would break. It was in 1993, I think, possibly '94, when I was living with Marian and we were watching the Oscars when I suddenly realized that I couldn't find him and hadn't seen him for awhile. My apartment was on the second floor and the building was attached to a garage, so if you climbed out the window you were on the garage roof, and I used to let the cats out to play there (it was fenced in). I had left them out earlier that day and hadn't noticed that one hadn't come back.

We looked and looked and called and called and tried to see if he was in the backyard of the restaurant next door, but we couldn't find him. The next day I made signs and we put them everywhere in the neighbourhood, looking and calling and asking people. I went next door during the day and poked around in the backyard, calling him and shaking a box of dry food, something that always brought all of the cats running. I really truly thought that he was gone.

I cannot remember how long it was, but about a week later, maybe a little less, there was a knock on my door. It was one of the guys who worked in the restaurant. "Your cat, we find your cat!" I got the carrier and ran downstairs.

They had been moving something in the backyard and found him crouched way in the back of something, all hidden. I had to crawl on my belly to drag him out bodily and put him into the carrier, as he was completely paralysed with fear. I thanked the guys profusely and brought him home.

"Why did you not answer me, for heaven's sake?" I demanded, "I called and called, one little mew, that's all I ask!" but it didn't matter, because he was home.

And now he has gone to his long home, and he is with Milo again, and they are lying in each other's arms in the comfy chair washing each other's faces and purring madly as they always used to.

Goodbye, my good boy.

Elvis
1988-2003

Today's horoscope:
Justice is on your side these days. Your personal integrity means you are compelled to finish what you started. Relax into your rhythm and dream of payday.

One year ago today:
And I thought "Ocean! I want to have a son and name him Ocean!" and when this kid is being beaten up in the schoolyard for having the sissy freak name, it will all be MTV's fault.

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