Today was a very sad day. I lost a dear friend to cancer. He was a comfort to me when I was grieving the loss of my wife, who passed away in 2000. His first name was Luciano, but I called him Lucky, some folks called him Lou.
There was a story about his full name. It was given to him because each part of it told something about him. His full name was Luciano Houdini Tuxedo Vaughan.
I gave him his names.
Luciano - because his voice sounded like that of the famous tenor.
Houdini - because if I closed a door on him and he was lonely, he was able to stretch high up, grab the doorknob and turn it to open the door.
Tuxedo - because he looked like he was wearing one. He had a nice black suit on, with a full white cravat, and white spats. He was a good looking "dude".
Vaughan - because he quickly became a member of my family.
I was very sad and lonely in the months after my wife died. We had been married for 43 years. My granddaughters, Kaitlin and Bridget felt sorry for me and thought that a feline companion would cheer me up a little. They accompanied me to the Carroll County Humane Society and helped select a cat for me.
We knew about Lucky already because his picture had been in newspaper ads and on TV. When we watched all the cats in the "cat picking" area, the kittens and older cats were running around, playing and getting in trouble. Only one was laid back, kind of looking on paternally to all that was going on. That was the black and white cat we later called Lucky. We decided to pick him because he looked distinguished.
Lucky was of uncertain age. He was found living in a sewer in a Westminster cul-de-sac. We guessed that he was about two years old. He probably was a lot older.
Someone must have abused him earlier because for a few months he showed displeasure at being picked up or petted by scratching and biting me. My arms were a mass of bloody scratches. But after a while he realized that he had a good home with me and decided to cool it and be good. We became good friends and later he learned to like Elaine.
Everything went well until a few months ago. He began to lose weight and the vet said that he had hyperthyroidism. We began to give him medication and that was going fairly well until he bit his tongue and suddenly could not eat or drink properly. He would try to eat and slobber it all over.. then he would shake his head and spatter the walls and people nearby with food.
We put him into the vet hospital for two months, hoping that they would be able to get his tongue to heal. When we picked him up, the vet told us that his tongue was cancerous and was not curable.
In spite of medication and special diets, he continued to lose weight until he looked like a concentration camp inmate. Yet, there was still a spring to his step and he could still jump up on a chair if he wanted to.
However, two days ago, he stopped eating and drinking. I got him to take a few drops of water, but that was all. Yesterday, he could hardly get up from his little bed and today I had to carry him around.
He passed away today early in the afternoon and my daughter, Diane and I buried him in the backyard of my former home in Gamber, Maryland. This was the yard where I would walk around under the trees and in the meadow and he would follow at my heels. This was the yard where he would spend every night prowling.
Farewell, my little friend.. thank you for being such a comfort to me for so many years.
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