After the usual - 'Can we keep him?' - 'Only until you find a good home for him.' - routine, we found ourselves with a new cat. Shannon seemed a perfect name for him because of his red coat and huge green eyes, and of course, because of his origin.

We always referred to Shannon as our "low maintenance cat." We had several cats underfoot in those days, and Shannon just sort of blended into the background. He never was a cat to be "in your face," in those early days, but was content to just do his own thing, while other furballs stole the limelight. He was neither high profile nor high maintenance. He went about life being a cat, and he did it so well - the epitome of catness, to the very end.

Lest it be thought that Shannon was ignored, or that we didn't treasure him, I'll mention one occasion that comes to mind from those days. Shannon had the distinction of having a street named after him: Shannon Court, in Livermore, CA. My husband was designing an industrial subdivision near the lab, and in those days the design engineers named streets at random - they were sometimes later changed by the developers or the cities involved, but somehow, Shannon Court survived the cut, even though the directive had been "space-related names." We've always had our own private chuckle over that bit of chicanery.

When Shannon was three, we moved, with him and Arthur (our little old lady cat) to our present home, on the water, on the California Delta. I was attracted to this community because of its bucolic surroundings, and because I had always wanted to live on the water; Asa readily agreed, because it afforded a safe place for our remaining cats.

Shannon had handsomely grown into those great pillows of feet, and continued to work seriously on his "catness." At his peak, he weighed almost seventeen pounds, and had turned into a fine specimen of a "Sunshine Cat."

He was a fine fighter, too, which was later to be his undoing. There were not many cats in the neighborhood when we moved in, but Shannon quickly located the "Alpha Cat," and summarily dethroned him. Not without taking some licks himself, though, and we had the veterinary bills to prove it.

Eventually, Bubba made his appearance, and after a few years, Shannon "retired," but Bubba always deferred to him his position of Alpha Cat within our household. However, among us humans, Bubba often stole the spotlight, while Shannon and Arthur were close little buddies who spent their sunset years together. They would sleep curled around each other, and every morning I would open my eyes to the vista of the two of them, Shannon in the doorway, and Arthur primly perched a few feet behind him, patiently waiting for breakfast.

The day came, too soon, when Arthur was no longer with us. Gradually, I noticed that Shannon had come out of his shell, and more and more often, where I was, there would be Shannon, patiently waiting for a bit of attention. I realized then that he missed Arthur as much as I did, and the two of us naturally gravitated together for solace and companionship.

For the past several years, he has been my "Velcro Kitty," part of the scenery of my life, and a bigger part of my heart. He had a purr that rumbled like a string bass, and it echoed in counterpoint to my keyboards strokes as I worked on the computer. If I would ignore him too long, he would reach out with a huge paw to remind me of his presence, but most of the time he would sit patiently at my elbow, nodding off until I declared a break and shared some cuddle time with him. He became so much a part of my working life that he was the inspiration for many articles on this site, and truly earned the title I gave him of my GuideCat.

The past year has been rough. Shannon was diagnosed with FIV, a legacy of those long-ago fights, along with CRF. A year ago, I challenged Shannon to make it to his nineteenth birthday, and, tough old soldier that he was, he made it. He tolerated my ministrations patiently, and was always grateful for the cuddle time when it was over.

The sun came up right on schedule this morning, but somehow, there was no warmth in it. The sky is still blue, but not quite the azure of yesterday. The birds are singing, but their song does not seem so sweet. I know that somewhere far away, Shannon is waiting for me, young again, frisky, and pain-free.