It’s my sad duty to announce that the position of World’s Greatest Living Cat is now open. Last Tuesday the former titleholder, my beloved Ichabod, passed away.
Ichabod was suffering from both an aggressive cancer and kidney failure, and died from complications following a surgery. From diagnosis to death was two weeks. He had just turned 12 in May.
Almost every minute of those 12 years, Ichabod was no further than arm’s length from me. He spent his days on my lap as I drew and wrote, and his nights sleeping at my feet. When I left the apartment, he was there to greet me at the door with little melodic meows when I returned, following me around until I gave him enough head scratches to assure him he was also missed.
He was a perfect studio pet, being at times a muse, a sounding board, a determined distraction, and, if you count all the hair he shed on my paintings as artistic contributions, an enthusiastic collaborator. Above all Ichabod was my best friend, accompanying me on three transatlantic moves, seeing me through the hardest periods of my life, and forever making me smile just by being himself.