She left my life just as quickly as she had entered. The last time I saw her she was sitting on a mattress on the floor putting on her shirt. The next day she took a flight back to LA, leaving her apartment and taking nothing with her.
It was late spring when she appeared, letting out the apartment above mine. We hung out together all that splendid summer. We ate, watched parades and went to the railroad museum. I photographed her when we sat in the sun in the park.
I have the photo's now and a lot of good memories. Occasionally I sit and wonder whatever happened to her.
I woke up on the sofa in the morning, hungover and bleary eyed. After adjusting the horizontal roll on the black and white television I slowly focused on a surreal sight.
Saigon had fallen during my hiatus. Helicopters were flying out to Navy ships off the coast of Vietnam. There were people hanging onto the bottom of the choppers which were landing on an aircraft carrier. As soon as the people cleared,
a crew of sailors would push the aircraft into the drink.
I thought, Oh my God, they are pushing millions of dollars of aircraft into the Ocean. What a waste. Then I slowly realized that the mission of an aircraft carrier is to launch fighter planes. This cannot be done with the decks cluttered up with helicopters. All of a sudden it made sense; as much as war itself makes sense.
Where am I going with this, you ask. For the third time in my last two years I am facing the prospect of "downsizing". The possibility of moving from my new apartment into a single room in assisted assisted living is depressing. But this is what it may come to, remembering my mission and pushing my personal helicopters into the water.
I have had 40 years of happiness and tragedy since Saigon fell 40 years ago today. I am sober now and much more able to take life's disappointments without drinking but I still wince when I think of all those helicopters at the bottom of the sea.
Let me tell you I know Americans.
The other night me old man sent me down to the corner pub
to buy a bucket o' beer and on me way I met an American.
Before you could say Trafalgar Square he'd upped me, downed me.
in'd me, out me, wiped 'is talleywacker on me petticoat,
drank me beer, pissed in me bucket and walked off whistling
God save the King.
And ye ask me if I know Americans?
A ditty popular in England during World War II.
She was strong and muscular just like always. Then she just quit eating. I noticed that her dish had not been touched. I watched her for a few days and she did not eat and was loosing weight.
I called a cab and took her to the vet at MaxFund.
That is where I adopted her ten years ago. The consensus of opinion was that she might have a tumor. Older cats are prone to these things. They can be healthy and then just suddenly tank. She wasn't that old, I thought. She should be good for another ten years.
She wasn't. After several trips to the vet at Maxfund and about $500 she had lost half her body weight. She was fur over bones and looked like a drowned rat. It was obvious she wasn't going to make it. Finally after it was apparent she was suffering and that she was down to her last couple of days I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I had to have my constant companion for the last ten years euthanized.
When the attendant carried her down the hall I could see her looking at me, her blue eyes filled with love and wonder.
I got a card in the mail signed by all the employees at Maxfund.
I will always cherish it.
I don't know if I will get another cat or not. It's on the cusp.
I miss her.
(See blog post THOUGHTS ON THE POWER OF TURKEY AND UNCONDITIONAL LOVE / Monday, July 21, 2014.)
She left my life just as quickly as she had entered. The last time I saw her she was sitting on a mattress on the floor putting on her shirt. The next day she took a flight back to LA, leaving her apartment and taking nothing with her. 
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