Saying goodbye to Buddy  I met Buddy and his person in our
parking lot. His person explained to me that, in his youth,
Buddy was an amazingly beautiful animal, sleek and strong. That
was long ago. She told me that Buddy found her, describing him
as the stray that took her in.  Buddy kept coming to her back
door, for weeks on end, nightly just as she was preparing
dinner. She explained that his timing had been impeccable,
somehow aware on which days she was preparing her meal either a
bit late or on the early side, timing his visits accordingly.
He’d cry and circle just outside her back screen door, more like
he was anxiously expecting what was his due rather than actually
begging for a handout. She admired his pride, as well as his
athletic good looks, and rewarded his performance with bits of
chicken or fish or a small scrap of cheese. Within a week, she
was shopping for him too, and he took to the commercial cat food
with a gusto that surprised her. “Picky” was a not a word she
ever found reason to use for