Zander

Ah, my Zander, I loved him instantly. For the last 11 years, he has been my bestest buddy, my familiar. He met me at the door, guarded me Cleopatra cat style, slept on my feet at night, and snuggled on my chest on particularly shitty days. He was always by my side, my Halloween cat.

Our vet begged us to take Zander. Officially, they named him Alexander the Great Spawn of Satan because my legendary hurricane of havoc was perfectly skilled at stealing the food before the receptionist could get it to her mouth. All I heard was Zander, and thought of loyal, loveable Xander Harris. I was right.

My boy never lost his devious spark. He dug up flower beds, ate my plants, chewed the faces off of his toys, and tore holes in the screen. His fascination with water was beyond crazy.  I couldn’t find a bowl big or heavy enough to stop him from constantly spinning all of the water out of it.

But mostly, he lived up to the great. He was beautiful, sweet, and an expert cockroach killer (and eater). He had a radar for ideal spots of sunshine and was a world-renown sleeping contortionist. He was ornery, curious, and so much fun. He was my favorite photography subject, the perfect bullshit boyfriend detector, photo-bomber, lap-warmer, and cat treat connoisseur.  I will forever love that crazy, silly little pumpkin butt.

Fragile Circle

“We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own
live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached.
Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way.
We cherish memory as the only certain immortality,
never fully understanding the necessary plan.”

– Irving Townsend, “The Once Again Prince,” Separate Lifetimes, 1986

For my cooler, arty photos of Zander where I’m not smothering him with love hugs, see my Cats album on Flickr. The obscure, crappy one that I picked just makes me smile.