Izzy

I'm not a cat guy.

I love dogs, probably because I grew up with three of them -- Ladybug, Nicky and Leonard. They each had unique personalities.

But there's one cat I did like, and she died last Sunday peacefully in her home.

Like all cats, Izzy was mysterious. She'd sneak into the room and linger in the shadows, watching but pretending not to watch, noticing but pretending not to notice.

When you talked to her in a soothing voice, she'd nod off to sleep. Then she'd open her eyes wide, almost embarrassed that she dozed off, like an eighth-grader in the front seat of a boring geometry class.

I never heard her hiss, only purr. She never greeted guests, choosing to hang back to observe the new intrusion before forming an opinion.

She liked her back rubbed and she liked to snuggle under a blanket while her masters, Rich and Liz, watched high-definition television.

Sometimes, for no apparent reason, she'd dart across the room in pursuit of something. But it was always nothing.

She shared the name of a Guns 'n' Roses guitarist, but she wasn't rock 'n' roll. She was acoustically peaceful, a comfortable companion who will be deeply missed.

Comments

[Izzy's Momma]

Thanks Dan! That's really, really nice and you understand her very well-right down to the last purr. I'm glad she's remembered and I'm sure she is too.