Most of the time, our plots and lives revolve around people and we overlook the creatures that inhabit our world. Today, my favorite cat Ché died. Several years ago, I adopted him from a local animal shelter. He was a big, beautiful, gray Chartreux with golden eyes and an easy-going demeanor. He was elegant. I must have been in a Motorcycle Diaries phase when I decided to name him after Ché Guevara.
Ché weighed in at 11 pounds when I first brought him home. He was big-boned and skinny, but he soon filled out to a sleek 17 pounds, the weight he maintained all his life. He was a silky gray panther who didn't like too much cuddling, but who loved to bestow little kisses now and then on your ear or the tip of your nose. I loved his intelligence. He had few faults. He was extraordinarily quiet, except when there was chicken or fish in the kitchen, in which case he would sing for his dinner with all his heart.
Ché was so sick this morning, but he did not complain. He seemed to understand that I was trying to help. He purred when I stroked him, even though he didn't have the strength to move. It was sad to say farewell. He had a unique personality. His old pal Leo, a Maine Coon, will miss him and their daily ritual of a playful wrestling match. I will remember to find him a place in a story some day.
So here's the question. How many animals inhabit your lives and stories?