I am very sad to tell you all that Mr. Sam Foley Horkheimer, magnificent beast extraordinaire, died today. He was just shy of his 13th birthday. (I guess this also serves as an announcement that his bar mitzvah is canceled, as well.)

Horkie was just being brought to the Humane Society as I was walking in to adopt a kitten in 1994. As soon as I saw him, I said, "I want that one!"

I admired Mr. Horkheimer's ability to take life in stride. He tolerated moving seven times, he saw me through three boyfriends and one wedding, we lived with ten different cats and, god forbid, even a Sheltie. (Okay, so he didn't take the Sheltie in stride so much. He just bit off a tiny bit of her dog ear.) Through it all, Hork remained happy and dignified.

No matter where we lived, neighbors said to me, "Oh, is that your cat? I pet him whenever I walk by here."

Horkie always knew when I needed him to sit on my feet, cause they were cold.

If I am going to eulogize him, however, he would think it important that I mention that he was a grand and efficient hunter. I'd like to think that despite this, he got into cat heaven, and he is sitting in a drawing room somewhere with the mounted heads of all the beleaguered creatures he gleefully murdered through the years, including maybe a very tiny mount of those poor baby birds that fell through the fireplace that one day...

For the last nine years, Mr. Horkheimer and Rob Disner fought over who got to sleep with their head on the pillow next to mine (sometimes Rob Disner had to sleep upside down on the bed). It looks like Rob Disner won the battle for the place on the pillow, but Horkie has certainly won a permanent place in my heart

--Karen "Credit Where Credit Is Due" Disner