I got Clancy in 1990. It was right about the time
I divorced my first wife, and he was around a year old. He loved to be
with me as I sat at my computer, writing. If it was too warm to be in my
lap, he'd park himself on the back of my chair. Even though the top of my
chair wasn't really very wide, neither was he, and he was quite comfortable
and content. In fact he didn't even rely on my shoulders to steady
himself -- I could get up, and he stayed there, with no struggle to
balance.
I named him Clancy since he was a tom, and I was an author, and I had just signed a deal to write a big True Crime book. I didn't want to write like Tom Clancy, but I did think it would be nice to earn the type of royalties he got! (That book fell through -- thankfully! True Crime doesn't really interest me enough to make a career out of it.)
So Clancy and I thought about what sort of writing did interest me, and a few years later This is True was born. He was there, and it was only fitting that he appear with me in True's first book, in the author's photo. He made several more appearances over the years.
We've moved many times since, and while he hated riding in the car he always managed to adapt to the new place, even when I moved from hot L.A. to snowy Colorado.
Clancy was a sweet boy who
loved to be held or to just be near me. In the summer he slept right next
to me; in the winter, he slept on me. When I rolled over he'd "surf
the wave" to stay in the same relative spot, and when I settled down he
would too. But in recent months it was getting clear he was in distress. He
has always loved to jump up into my arms (I'm tall, and the floor is a long
way away, so I had taught him to jump up to me rather than rely on me to
bend down to pick him up). But over time, his jumps were less and less
powerful -- he wasn't making it all the way to my arms. And in recent
weeks, he wouldn't even make the attempt; he was simply tired and, perhaps,
hurting.
When he got into my arms, though, he was the most comfortable cat in the world, right up to the end. He loved relaxing on my shoulder; I obliged by gripping his little butt to support him there. He'd relax totally, trusting me to hold him in his favorite position. The photo to the left was taken the day before he died, and it's classic Clancy -- his pink toes splayed in pleasured comfort, purring away.
And alas, he did die: on October 17, 2005. He is survived by his "sisters" Mish, Mash, and Puss. Clancy was about 16, and I'll remember him forever. He was a good companion.
Postscript: I mentioned this page in This is True, and to my surprise several readers asked if they could blog this, and point their own readers here. So since there are "strangers" reading, I'll introduce myself: I'm Randy Cassingham, author of This is True and the True Stella Awards, and the creator of the Get Out of Hell Free card. And please: I'd very much appreciate your not sending me "e-cards" and letters of condolence -- they're just too much. Please give the time to your own pet instead. Thanks.