On Tuesday, August 25th, I had to say goodbye to my best friend of over 17 years, Tristan. I will never forget the day he found me (yes, really) - the circumstances of which are nothing short of magical and will one day end up in one of my books. He was a gangly, awkward teenage kitten with feet that were too big for him, crossed eyes, and a freckled nose. No one would have guessed that he would grow into an absolutely beautiful example of a traditional flame-point Siamese one day. In my opinion, the best example (but I’m partial).

He had been in a fight or been hurt someway and had several gashes on his face and body - one of which he bore the scar of his entire life. I immediately took him to the vet, but swore I would rehome him after he was well. I had lost my childhood cat the prior year and was in no mood to give my heart away so soon. Well. Tristan had other ideas.

His immediate bond to me was surreal. It was as if he had known me for years. I grew up around cats, and they take a bit to get to know you. Tristan seemed relieved to be with me. Almost reunited. His earnest and magnetic personality was inescapable to anyone that met him. Like most Siamese, he was incredibly vocal and would have entire conversations with anyone willing.

He loved music and would spend hours with me at my piano listening to me play. If I stopped before he was ready, he would meow loudly and put his paw on my arm until I began playing again. I once was moving my grandmother’s tea trolley from one room to another. He ran and leapt on the moving cart, immediately sitting down for a ride - thus began a lifelong love of getting rides. Sometimes, it wouldn’t even have to be something with wheels. Carrying a dining room chair into another room? That will do! And away he would leap onto the chair and settle in for another airborne adventure. John and I eventually got him a pet stroller and would take him on walks around our neighborhood.

During a birthday in lockdown, John surprised me with an at-home Haunted Mansion - with our downstairs completely decorated with animated props, black lights, spiderwebs, and the ghosts and ghouls one would expect. John pushed me through the “ride” on an office chair (Oh, the things we all did during Covid, HA), and I immediately thought, “Tristan has to ride next.” Which he did. He seemed a little afraid, but also enraptured. Very much like my first experience as a kid on the real thing at Disney. 

When I started writing, Tristan was my co-writer, sitting on my lap for hours and keeping me going. He was my constant meal companion and my nightly sentinel, starting out sleeping on my chest, before moving down to the foot of the bed each night.

My Dad had a very special bond with Tristan, and always claimed he was a doctor with a unique healing ability. That certainly seemed to be true, as I doubt I would have gotten through a three week bout of Covid years ago without him. I like to think he and my Dad are together now.

He was only a few months shy of 18 years old. He holds the record now for the oldest cat in the family - and really until the last 6 months or so, you’d have never guessed his age. He still had a zest for life and a love for him family that was unmatched. He died peacefully in the arms of me and John. I’ve got to thank John for being his second Daddy for 13 years. Tristan loved him so much, and I know John is hurting just as much as I am.

Thank you for choosing me, Tristan, you magical, unforgettable cat. I was the luckiest cat dad in the world. There will never be another like you.