There was something special about Simon from the moment we met on Noah’s Ark. He was the last leftover kitten from the litter in a house with two dogs, two birds, two turtles, two fish and all the rest. One look in those big, deer-in-headlights eyes and I knew it was time to bring him home.
The original plan was for Simon to keep the then 4-year old Rosie company in my humble abode in Los Angeles. That didn’t work out so well at first. What transpired from there was 17 years of cat antics that only the very unique Simon could pull off.
Let’s start with the time he moved the kitchen cart across the room, spraining an ankle and needing Advil for the first time. Or just moments after I brought home my first beagle and Simon proceeded to scratch my chest (still have the scars) and climb into the kitchen ceiling for 6 days. I won’t ever forget when he tried to hop onto the bookcase and ended up jumping on my head instead. Simon was very vocal, and had absolutely no shame in singing to himself in the middle of the night.
It’s fitting that I named him after Neil Simon the playwright, as he was the most amusing cat I’ve ever met. He’d ride Rosie around the house like a horse, would bite your hand off to get the last piece of steak and managed to escape singlehandedly from all three of my homes in the Bay Area. He always made me laugh and he was very loyal; a rare trait for a cat.
I always felt bad that Simon seemed to live in his late sister Rosie and surviving sister Stella’s shadows. So handsome, so sweet and always the perfect companion to two female felines with very big personalities. Don’t worry, Simon. You were truly loved. Even by Rosie. Who’ll never admit it out loud.
Goodbye, Mister Sir. Your funny little spirit will be part of me forever.
Now go pay attention in heaven. Rosie knows where the steak is.