Rudy was like most of our pets unremarkable. Typical of Hessen animals, he was not chosen by us. Our youngest son brought Rudy home. When the son left, Rudy stayed.

Dont get me wrong. We cared about Rudy. We also cared for Rudy. We just were not in the market for another pet. When Rudy joined the family we already had two cats, Jake and Tom, plus our Boston terrier, Jimmy more pets than people.

Rudy was exceptionally handsome. The vet said he was a domestic long hair a mutt. Rudys thick tortoise shell coat covered his small frame and made him appear much larger than he was. His big round eyes, the color of kiwi fruit, lit his multi-hued face. I often said he was shaped like a keg with legs round and low to the ground.

He had tufts of fur like wisps of gray smoke that fluttered from each ear.

I think, somehow, Rudy sensed our reluctance to take on another four-footed responsibility because, at first, he maintained a very low profile. As the youngest of our furkids, he was able to watch and learn. He had a great mentor in Jake, our orange tabby that lived to be 23.

Rudy soon established an indoor-outdoor routine to his life. We would find evidence of his successful hunting adventures in our yard and garage. We also noticed that he became very territorial, dare I say a bully, about the cul-de-sac beyond our house. Other cats were not allowed in any part of the street that Rudy claimed as his. He started more than one brawl with cats who forgot to play by Rudys rules. Sometimes we had to go get Rudy out of the street so the offending cat could continue on its way unaccosted. When I delivered mail on our block, he walked the cul-de-sac with me like my personal postal mascot.

Indoors, Rudy slept on top of the printer, waking to catch the copies as it spit them out. He walked across the paper shredder, turning it on when we werent home. He balanced on the edge of the tub when I bathed, splashing his paws in the water. Rudy traipsed across the headboard while we slept, knocking things down on our heads. Somehow, even before I opened the can, Rudy knew when I took tuna off the pantry shelf. I would hear him scurry into the kitchen. Then he would begin his meowing demand, reminding me he was entitled to lick out any tuna remaining in the bottom of the tin. Rudy hid behind corners, swatting at his unsuspecting fursiblings when they passed, delighting if a chase ensued. He became a pesky little brother and endeared himself to all of us.

When Rudy was 14, we noticed, in spite of a ravenous appetite, he had lost weight. A trip to the vet revealed a hyperactive thyroid. The doctor presented us with treatment options, mostly things we did not feel would improve Rudys quality of life. Because of our dual residency, he would have to be confined to a crate, then transported back and forth, remaining crated all the time we were in Seaside at least one third of his remaining life. We chose the do nothing option, supplemented with lots of spoiling and a diet we hoped would pack some pounds back on our little friend.

For several months, Rudy was able to live his life as if nothing had changed. Eventually, however, the increased thyroid activity and the resulting super speed metabolism caused Rudy to lose so much weight we did not think he was safe outside where a hawk, eagle, owl, raccoon or other predator might harm him. Much to Rudys dissatisfaction he became an indoor cat. After all, in Rudys mind, he remained the cat to contend with.

Rudy made it clear he wanted to be outside. He attempted to escape whenever the door was opened. I began carrying him outside for fresh air. I would take him in my arms for walks around our wooded yard. Together, we observed from the porch the jays and robins plucking worms from our lawn. I would sit with Rudy quietly purring on my lap. Under his chin I could feel the golf ball-sized lump that was his massive thyroid. His little heart beat nearly 200 times a minute in response to the hormones raging through his body. I watched the wind blow through the tufts of fur in Rudys soft gray ears.

Twenty-four months after Rudys diagnosis, he weighed less than five pounds. The light went out in his gorgeous green eyes. Rudy the remarkable lived 16 years in our home, forever in our hearts.