In memory of Gandalf...

...my sister's cat, not his namesake, the wizard.

I just got the news that Gandalf died this morning. Understandably, my sister is pretty sad about that. Those two loved each other a lot. Gandalf used to cry for her if she was out of town or even just later coming home than he expected. He also preferred for my sister to carry him around more like a child than a cat...you know, with his back end on her hip and his head and paws up on her shoulder...except he would put one paw on her back and one on the front of her shoulder...not like a cat at all, really. But, they were happy.

I'll have to consult with my mom or my sister, but I think he must have been 14 or 15 years old, so he's been a part of our lives for a long time now. And, this Gandalf was the second or third cat in my dad's life named Gandalf. Long, lean, and almost a bluish grey color, the name fit him well.

It is common knowledge that Gandalf and I had our disagreements. I did not always like the way he treated my clothes (spraying them when he felt like it) and he did not always like the way I interrupted his life by having clothes, I guess...or, for that matter, later a dog! But, I will say that in his later years he chilled out a lot and was more friendly.

But, much more importantly than what Gandalf and I thought of each other, the rest of my family loved him a lot. He provided companionship and moments of joy at different times to my mom, my dad, and especially my sister.

So, today I'm sad for my sister because she loves this cat very, very much. And, as much as I might hate to admit it, I'll miss Gandalf, too.