by Elizabeth Reeves

Created on: June 25, 2008

Toby was never meant to be my cat. I had been begging for years to have a cat of my own, one that we could keep indoors, as our various attempts at out door cats had merely created entrees for the coyotes and even one particularly vicious bobcat. All of my begging got me nowhere. My parents did not believe in indoor pets, as a general rule of thumb.

But there's a pest here in the desert, that poses a dire threat to about a third of the population. It's a nasty little creature called a 'Kissing Bug' and my sister was in the part of the population that faced death when one bit her.

Epi-pens can save a life, but, for prevention, my sister was prescribed with a cat.

My mom and brother came home with Toby when I was thirteen. He was in that gangly 'teenage' stage of an older kitten's life, perhaps about nine months old. They had rescued him from the local pound. I thought he was beautiful. His coat was tan and white tabbly, with brilliant gold eyes that were bright with intelligence and good nature.

I think my sister would have preffered the epi-pen or hospitalisation to owning a cat. After a few nights she said that he kept her awake all night purring, that she hated him, and he was banished into an empty bedroom.

After a few months I managed to convince my family to let Toby roam the house freely, first by locking him up at night, but eventually he became a real member of our family- and my best friend.

Toby and I did everything together. He would walk on a cat harness when we went camping, he slept with me at night, he and I would play tag and basically just do everything together.

I have always been awkward with people. They intimidate me. I never know where I stand with another person, but I always had Toby.

Toby understood me. When I was sick he would curl up on my stomach and purr for hours at a time. he kept us entertained by his antics- playing in the sink, swimming across a river, trying to squeeze into a shoe box. Even my dad, the first to say he isn't a cat person, grew to love and have a great relationship with Toby. Often I would see my dad grading papers on his bed, with Toby stretched on the floor beside him in a patch of sunshine, or standing on his hind legs to get the rare tickle behind his ears.

So many cats don't do well with babies, but we have a great photo of my niece, when she was two, sleeping directly on top of him. He wouldn't let us move her, he enjoyed just being near her.

At one time I got two kittens. I was worried that he would take issue, being male, and an only cat for several years, but he mothered them. He would wash their faces, sit on top of them, and even hold them down and 'spank' them for being naughty. He even taught our dogs how to treat a cat

My best friend left me after only seven years. His bladder ruptures due to a feline disease called Feline Urinary Tract Disorder. The man who is now my husband helped me bury him. My dog cried for a year, looking for him everywhere in the house.

It's been seven years now. I still miss him every day. Every cat I see, I look closely at, hoping to see some spark of him in their eyes. He was the most loyal friend I've ever had, even to this point. I miss having him here beside me, knowing that, when I go to bed at night, I will never be alone, that I can always have someone to talk to who will not judge me, some one to race around like crazy in the morning and bite my ankles, then leap away, inviting me to play.

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