And there was one....

The original Three Cats is now down to one.

Drey, on the left (that's Colby on the right, another original Three Cats) had to be put down by his owner Saturday. Unfortunately, I was on vacation and didn't turn on my cell phone until that day, and I couldn't make it back in time to say a final good-bye to him.

Jenn saw the look on my face and asked what was wrong. I couldn't say anything, just hit 'replay' on the voicemail and handed her the phone.

Drey was 15 years old. He was the one bringing up the rear when Marla decided to catch a mouse and either show it to me or teach Drey how to do so. And Drey was either saying, "Marla's got a mouse and she's not sharing!" or flipping through a cookbook: "Oh, boy, mouse stew, mouse flambe', mouse soup!"

Dave told me that when he brought Drey to be put down, Drey started acting like his usual self, running around. I couldn't tell him without crying that Drey was acting that way because that's the way he wanted Dave to remember him, much like how Marla wanted to jump and run around but couldn't.

The night before we had a free spin coupon for the casino, so we figured why not. We didn't win anything, but I found a casino voucher for fifteen cents, uncashed. I figured it was Marla's way of buying bubble gum for her buddy. I also found two pennies while doing the laundry last night.

Dream of mousies, Drey. Now, like Marla, you can run and eat and sleep all you want, in a place where there is always a warm sun on your back and a gentle breeze.

I also got a reply from Sinatra's owner:


Hart,

I don’t think I responded yet, but please accept my apologies. I was away on a trip and missed some messages, but I wanted to thank you for taking the time to write me about the Sinatra story. This is one of the nicest letters, and means all the more because you are a fellow reporter.

I was looking through the remembermarla website and was struck by how much she resembles our other cat Annie, who is a sort of Maine Coon. (I say sort of because she was from a litter of strays, and I doubt there was pure breeding there.) You write some very beautiful things, and I can tell how much pain you have gone through. I certainly understand it. I have shed many tears over the loss of my pal, too. It’s funny the bond we create, how strong it can be over such simple, quiet moments. I must say, I envy the years you had with her. Sounds like she led a good, long life by your side. You must have taken excellent care of her.

Well, I wish you the best going forward. It does get easier, I’ve found. Though … just the other night I woke up and, groggy with sleep, whistled for him. Of course, he didn’t come. But sometimes I wake up and think he is there, and my wife often says, “Maybe he is.”

Take care, my friend …

Anthony