Goodbye to a sweet feline teacher

I was writing sports and feature stories for the daily Globe Gazette in Mason City, Iowa. Came home late one late autumn night and edcided at the last minute to take a walk around the block, even though it was blustery cold and raining. Was only about four houses from my own when I heard a plaintive “meow!” from the darkness across the street.
I said “kitty, kitty, kitty!” and an orangy, long-haired cat ran over. He did not want to be picked up. But I took him, struggling mightily, to my place, because the weather was pretty awful and I couldn’t let the poor guy get sick or die.
Was not going to keep the kitty, ‘cause I already had a sweet cat friend named Blizzard. But I did. Named the new guy Scooter.
Seventeen years later we’re still together. The vet figured Scootie was already about two when I scooped him up. So I have a 19-year-old kitty, and he’s not long for this world. He has a cataract and probably arthritis, seems to be deaf, rarely moves from his nest of blankets, and has lost interest in playing. 
My guy has provided so many great memories. 
He disappeared one day when I came home. Finally I opened the back door – and there he was, wedged between the back door and the screen door, probably feeling slighted.
I helped myself to stew or something out of my crock-pot and was probably intent on working a crossword puzzle as I ate. Something made me turn and look – and there was Scootie, looking quite satisfied as he, too, ate from the crock-pot. He was a total chow hound; not so much these days.
My folks would never in a million years let us kids have a pet in the house. But they relaxed the rules as we grew older. 
And there was my dad, relaxing in his favorite rocking chair, mildly surprised to see a large, orange-colored kitty stroll on past, heading toward the kitchen.
Scootie was painfully shy. But one day a few years ago I took him to the vet’s for his annual shots, and stood close and comforted my poor guy, who was so scared he was drooling.
There was a dramatic change; he was suddenly a much more confident tiger.
Scootie became the heart and soul of our Cat Ranch, an omniscient observer relaxing on a shoe box as Blizzie and Willie, another newbie, joyfully tore around in my various dwellings.
He remained calm when I grew angry and threw fits – a little Buddha, telling me in his own way, ‘I’m OK, Daddy. You will be, too.’
My sweet little teacher still loves to be loved. He still rumbles that Scootie rumble, and he still licks my head with apparent affection when I get close.
He’s still Scootie. And it’s so hard to let him go.
I know I have to consider your quality of life, buddy. It’s not good if you’re suffering.
But it is impossible to consider life without you. It will break my heart to watch the vet inject the stuff that will take you away. And then I’ll come home with an empty carrier, to see just one lonely kitty standing there, where once there were three.
Just so you know, I’m eternally grateful that something made me walk around the block that night, and that you called out, and I took you in and we had the time of our lives. 
And I’m grateful for every purr – and all the hanks of soft, orangy, flyaway fur, that are so ‘you.’
God bless my sweet big boy, my amazing feline teacher. My Scootie.
Please watch over him when the time comes. Feed him Pounce treats now and then, if you would. They were his favorite.
I have to let him go, pretty soon now. Please, God, give me strength and courage to do the right thing for Scootie.
And thank you, thank you, thank you for the gift of our friendship.
What a sweet journey it’s been.