Buster

Buster had a really good Buster day Friday. He got some treats; he got to go for a walk and eat some grass and smell a freshly dug hole in the ground; he got to snuggle next to Daddy on the couch all night and even drink from his water glass; and he got to curl up in bed with Mommy and Daddy and Gibby.

On Saturday morning Buster got up with Daddy and coached him through getting dressed and ready for work, like every day, then went back to bed. Daddy kissed Mommy, kissed Earle, kissed Gibby and kissed Buster on the head before setting off.

Around 11 a.m., Mommy went to take a bath, and Buster walked her down the hall, talking all the way. And while she was bathing, he went into the den, lay down under a table and went to sleep.

Forever.

Our big boy would have been 18 at the end of May. He was an anniversary gift from Rox's mom to her stepdad when the kitty was just a few weeks old, big feet and big eyes and all. Bob named him Patches because of his mottled coloring.

Patches learned quickly that he wasn't allowed on tables or countertops, so he would sit up straight on a chair or a stool, like a person. Cracked me up, even though I didn't really like the guy very much.

See, Patches and I got off to a bad start. The very first time we met, there were a lot of people in the house and I was sitting on the floor, engaging in conversation with someone at the table.

Suddenly I heard that nasty scream that comes with a cat fight and felt something sharp slicing across my finger. The little bugger bit me for no reason!

I forgave him for that, but I distrusted him for a long time and never did warm up to him much for all the years he lived with my in-laws. He was no trouble, but we were generally indifferent to each other.

Bob and Jeanette lived next to a lake and had a purple martin house in the yard, so there was plenty of wildlife for the kitty to watch. One of them got the idea to put Patches in a harness and tie him outside so he could enjoy the fresh air. He took to it immediately, spending long afternoons, year after year, lazing in the shade of a pine tree -- and often needing pine sap combed out of his fur.

Jeanette and Bob loved that kitty. They let him eat potato chips and ice cream and popcorn. Unfortunately, when Patches was about 12, Jeanette went to heaven. Bob eventually met another nice lady and got married again. They started traveling a lot, and they felt bad about leaving Patches home alone. So on one trip, in late 2005, they brought him along -- to our house. And left him with us.

We were surprised but we welcomed him, as our home had been catless since Rikki had died in 2004. Patches made himself right at home, picking out a spot on the couch for hanging out.

Patches had a gregarious personality and such a stout body that our vet didn't believe us when we told him this was a 14-year-old cat. Dr. Hicks figured him for about 8.

For the same reasons, we didn't think the name Patches fit him very well. Rox had often called him Buster as a nickname, and that became his official moniker. He didn't care; he couldn't hear us anyway.

When he first came to us, Buster would open his mouth but only a squeaky little sound would come out. We soon realized he had gone deaf, but it didn't seem to bother him much. Eventually he got his voice back, and boy, did he like to use it. He always had plenty to say on just about any subject.

One thing he cried for often was a chance to go outside. We tied him up to our back porch virtually every day, and in about a half hour could count on hearing him call out to free him from the spirea bush he always wound his leash around.

It was a natural next step for us to take up the leash and start walking him up and down the block. This he took to with great enthusiasm. He took us on some prodigious walks; I can remember one that covered 12 blocks. In fact, Dr. Hicks told us to cut down on the walking because Buster was losing too much weight!

Buster became a neighborhood celebrity -- the Walking Cat. Drivers on busy Merriman Road would stop their cars to gawk and ask us how we got him to take a leash like that; a few people even took pictures.

A few months after Buster arrived we adopted Earle and then Gibby, and even though he had never shared his home or people with another cat, he didn't seem to mind. And when we moved to Georgia, he saw it as a fun new place to explore. He even knew which driveway was his; he never failed to turn in when we reached it after a walk.

Maybe because I was the one who took him for walks most often, Buster decided to make me his buddy. He wore me down, and I came to love him.

Both of us cherished our couch time together. In the last few months he'd become a little arthritic and had a touch of asthma, but he was a happy cat who had a good life.

I'm grateful that we had that great Friday and nice Saturday morning before he lay down for his final nap. His ashes will go to be with Jeanette, but the warmth of his companionship will always stay here with us.

God bless you, Buster. Thank you for being my buddy. Keep our spot on heaven's couch warm for us, and one day we'll walk and talk together again.

But Valentine's Day will never be the same.