Naomi Here:

My cat just died at approximately fifteen years of age. He was black, and when he arrived twelve years ago he was as spooky as you’d expect from a black cat, and he came with a readymade name: Weird. I nicknamed  him Chrysler because in the daytime he slept under my Chrysler van. Skittish and fearful, he’d go into hiding when a stranger entered his domain, but he liked me and kept me company in the kitchen. And he sat on the back of my office chair peering at the computer screen while I wrote a couple of books. And here’s my secret.  I talk to cats, and this one was a good listener. As he got older, he mellowed out, becoming less skittish and more listening, and I talked out many projects and told him many secrets. He knew the characters in my books and the joy of selling them, and he learned a lot about disabilities and the wonderful people in the programs I work with.

In retrospect, I believe that Weird (Chrysler) had many of the traits people have as they get older. They mellow out and become better listeners. Thanks, Weird, for teaching me. I’ve mellowed out, but I can improve on my listening skills.

To be fair, I must say that Weird belonged to my son, Paul, who moved away. Although Weird remained with us for years, he was always Paul’s cat when he came to visit. Paul took Wierd for walks as most people take a dog, and Weird slept on Paul’s bed. When we evacuated for hurricane Ike, Paul was the one who came up with calming cat nip for a scared cat.