Gryffyn. I was sitting on the steps of the first apartment I ever moved into, on the first day I ever saw the place, when a tiny brown tabby kitten came running up the walkway, calling to me in his trilling miaow. He climbed up the steps, which were almost too tall for him, and into my lap, mmrrrowling once before settling down with a rumbling purr.

That's how I met Gryffyn.

That apartment didn't work out, but the cat definitely did. The next day I was flipping through an art history book when I saw a picture of a gryphon, and thought to myself, "That's his name." Gryffyn moved home with me that summer, where he more or less got along with the other 6 or 7 cats there. He especially liked Cymba (short for Cymbaline), as she was almost as young as he was, and Mittens, the great big black and white tom who was the male dominant of the cat household. Gryffyn would follow Mittens around adoringly, watching him eat, yawn, sleep. He'd attack and sometimes Mittens would indulge in some playtime, but often Gryffy would get smacked down. It never deterred him too much, though.

When Kellie and I got our real first apartment together a year or so later, Gryffyn moved in with us along with Kellie's cat, Chloe. Chloe was a more refined cat than Gryffyn, who was a bit more playful and rambunctious, but they got along ok and eventually seemed to be good company for one another.

Gryffyn was the only cat I've ever had who seemed genuinely concerned about me. When I was sick he would sit with me on the couch, purring and looking into my face with what seemed like real concern. When I cried he would head-butt me until I got over myself enough to pet him and, inevitably, feel better. He was entirely devoted to me and I loved him madly.

The flipside of this devotion was jealousy. If I was gone for too long -- say I went on a 5-day camping trip -- he would express his displeasure. Once I came home to a covered pile of poo in my bed; he had taken a dump, then carefully pulled the covers over it so I didn't discover it until I got home. I made sure he never did that again, but I still try to smooth the covers when I leave my bed so that such surprises can't be hidden.

Gryffyn seemed keenly aware of human emotion. I could reprimand him with only the tone of my voice -- if he ate Chloe's food instead of his own (he was a bit piggish) I only need say his voice reproachfully and he'd slink, with a definite guilty posture, back over to his own bowl.

He loved the outdoors, and I bothered my friends more than once by enlisting their help in searching for Gryffy when he got out. Eventually I'd hear his trademark trilling "Mmrrrrooow?" and he'd come running up to me in the alley with the same casual, happy attitude he had the first time I saw him.

I always said that someday I'd own a big house with a lawn far away from high traffic roads, where I could let Gryffy run around outside as much as he pleased. He was an outdoor cat, but fear of losing him to traffic accidents or dogs was enough for me to keep him inside.

When I moved to California, I knew I couldn't take Gryffyn with me. For one thing, he really didn't travel well -- just bringing him home, a mere 20 minute drive -- resulted in at least once with me getting peed on. I also was staying with friends in California until I could find a place of my own, and I wasn't sure I could find a place that would allow cats. In fact, I didn't find a place that allowed cats until just this last year; back in 1997, it was a tough rental market and nearly impossible. Gryffyn moved back in with my Mom and all her cats and seemed pretty happy, though I know he missed me. I sure missed him.

I saw him every Xmas when I went home. As usual, he'd start out pissed at me for being gone for so long, but after a day or so he'd warm up and come trilling up to me for some lovin'. Gryffyn wasn't entirely happy with having so many cats around -- he would get huffy if other cats vied for attention at the same time he did and would often leave the room. He liked to miaow at the bathroom door because he knew that if we let him in, we'd close the door and no other cats would be able to come in and interrupt the attention he was getting.

He was a funny cat, but a good one. He had silky fur, like a rabbit's. He had really long tail, which supposedly meant he would have been a good mouser. Mom didn't let him out alone, but she did have a system where she'd put the cats in harnesses and attach their leashes to the clothes line. Gryffyn, ever the houdini, would start at one end of the line and run until he hit the other end, usually succeeding in snapping his harness free and getting some time alone to run free in the neighborhood, scaring the crap out of my mom.

I always felt guilty for leaving Gryffyn in Indiana. I was always so happy that he remembered me, even if it meant enduring a few days of his anger when I came back to visit. It was always so hard to leave that cat and come back to California. These last few years I haven't been able to come back to visit -- no money, and no vacation time allowed during Xmas. I haven't been back since Xmas 2001...

He was so silky. So sweet. I loved how he'd talk to me in that little trilling miaow voice...

I found out this weekend that I'm never going to get to bring Gryffyn to live with me in a big old house that I someday hope to afford. I had really hoped that he could live out his twilight years in a big old safe yard with lots of bugs and birds and rabbits to chase. Gryffyn is gone.

What makes this harder, what makes this just horrible for me and makes me even sadder than all this already makes me, is that I found out yesterday that he's been gone for awhile. That he was sick and now he's gone. I didn't even know he'd been sick. I had to call my mom today to find out more.

Turns out he'd been sick all last fall, and my mom didn't want to tell me because *I* was so sick at the time. His kidneys were failing. She had to take him and have him put to sleep in January because he wasn't even eating any more.

Oh, god. Oh, my poor kitty...my poor, sweet Gryffyn...

She said she made sure he got to go outside lots last fall, because she knew how much he liked being outside and she knew he wasn't going to get to enjoy it much longer. I'm glad he got to go outside lots...

But, jesus christ, I can't believe that it's July and I'm just now finding out about this! He was gone in January! And it's not even like he got hit by a car and it was sudden... he was sick and I didn't know! I know I probably couldn't have afforded to come home, but maybe I would have, and even if I couldn't, at least I could call and have Mom hold the phone up so I could say goodbye, so he could hear my voice one last time and know I hadn't forgotten about him, so I could maybe hear that sweet little trilling miaow of his one last time....

Oh, god, Gryffyn... I'm so sorry, kitty. I wish I could have gotten back and seen you more recently. I'm sorry I left you behind. I loved you so much.

You were a great cat.


(Gryffyn is the middle kitty)