While rummaging through some old papers I found some yellowed tearsheets from my brief inglorious career as an illustrator.  Well, it was more like a sideline than a career.

In the mid-1970’s I wrote to the editor of Susquehanna magazine, a Sunday insert in the now defunct Binghamton Evening Press newspaper, with a rather cheeky offer to provide better illustrations for their stories.  I included a cartoon drawing of an artist flinging pigment at a primitive painting.  To Darrel Burkhardt’s credit, he overlooked my youthful arrogance and offered to give me a shot.  I worked with him and a couple of his writers on various stories for several issues.  Sometimes they would provide me the story ahead of time and sometimes it would be a discussion about what they were going for.  I would provide pen-and-ink drawings that would reproduce well on newsprint.  I had some fun, made a few extra bucks, and they got some illustrations that were at least marginally better than the stuff they had been using.

It was fun while it lasted.  I don’t recall exactly how our working relationship ended but I recall it was kind of a fade-out.  They were going for more conventional stock illustration and I was realizing that this was too much like work with deadlines and specifications.  It’s a bit humbling to look at this stuff now.  Clearly I was not following in the footsteps of N. C. Wyeth or Norman Rockwell.

Mouse (one of our two cats, good friend, and family member) has passed away just shy of 16 years old.

She was, in fact, a better friend than a cat.  She lacked a few basic cat skills like catching mice and birds (total failure).  She never mastered use of her claws, frequently getting stuck when jumping up on an ottoman.

As a friend she was stellar.  She never bit or scratched anyone, was relentlessly friendly, ever affectionate, and forgave transgressions immediately.  She was an enthusiastic conversationalist, delighting in taking turns speaking in our respective languages.  Her purring was all out of proportion to her size.

Mouse was a consummate hedonist, spending all waking hours on the prowl for food, belly rubs, or noogies.  As a prodigious producer of hair, she relished her brushings when Lori could, in one sitting, brush out enough hair to knit a kitten. We often spotted her gazing at her reflection in a window or mirror–we shared her opinion of her good looks.

She always assumed that if anyone was in, near, or walking through the kitchen, the only plausible purpose was to serve her food.  She would relentlessly pace and exclaim her frustration at the staff’s inability to focus on this essential task.  Food finally served, she could purr and munch simultaneously.

Her naps were long luxurious embraces with a splash of sunlight, a vacant warm lap, or a cozy cardboard box.

As part of the family she was loved and she loved us, and we all (mostly) overlooked our respective shortcomings as any beloved family members do.

Mouse was a sweet sweet friend, will be dearly missed, and will be the subject of fond reminiscences for years to come.