Really, you picked me. I may have signed the paperwork and paid the fee to the Humane Society. But I always felt like you chose me. You saw a "dog-girl" at heart and decided to be the exception to the rule.
So that week after Christmas in 1998 you came home with me. An unexpected Christmas present to myself. We didn't get my then-boyfriend (now-Hubs) a kitten until the following year.
You were never really his cat. You had a preference for women - even my mom, crazy allergic and a cat-dis-lover for 50 years could not be immune to your charms.
You were a big kitty. Friends jokingly called you part-jaguar. Half-racoon. "The biggest cat I've ever seen."
You were my gentle giant. Tender-hearted, you let the new crazy orange kitty we brought home maul you and kick your ass all over the apartment.
Many years later, you let our little girl do the same thing. You didn't mind. You never once hissed. We almost suspected you liked the attention, since you'd always plop yourself within her reach, even before she could crawl.
Your love of a good snuggle was only surpassed by your love of food. Ideally shrimp straight from the platter, but soft cat food was more than acceptable. You could hear a can opening from anywhere and you'd always made an appearance, just-in-case.
The outdoors beckoned you and our moving to a house with a yard was like a type of Shangri-la, I suspect, the past few years. The minute the snow melted, you wanted outside. Not to roam. Not to adventure. Just to lay under the tree, in the cool grass.
You were a terrible pushover. My big lug. Kind-hearted and mellow. Beyond friendly and personable. You taught me what cats can be. Thank you.
Good-bye Simon. You will be missed, but not forgotten.