Smokerboy
His name was Smoke, but I often called him Smokerboy. I didn’t want a cat, in fact I was pretty annoyed when my wife brought him home that October evening in 1983. I only liked dogs, I said, and big dogs at that.
I held this tiny 6 week old kitten in my hands for the first time, and had no idea what to do with him, so I put him down, maybe even a little roughly I am ashamed to say, and went upstairs to watch TV. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, there he was firmly attached to my beard, a half circle outlining my chin, fast asleep. I was amused, and a little surprised, and peeled him off and placed him on a blanket, this time gently. I went to bed. I woke the next morning and felt something a bit odd on my head. I reached my hand to my head and there he was, attached to my hair, fast asleep. There began my love affair with cats, and with this cat in particular.
Smoke was one of those once in a lifetime, unique animals, but I didn’t know because I had never had a cat before. He barked and played baseball, climbed the Christmas tree, sat next to me on the couch on his rear end, like a little child, his head leaned against me, fast asleep. He had a clear sense of who he liked and didn’t like, and was not shy about expressing his opinion. He loved potatoes, blueberries, black olives and red licorice. He liked to grab the downstairs toilet paper and run with it, wrapping the entire kitchen and living room in it, like a white spider’s web. I don’t know how it didn’t rip off before he was done.
My wife and I split up and she couldn’t take him at all, even for visits, where she moved. He was all mine. A few months later, I began my own business and was working out of my house full time. Smoke was my full time, and only, companion. In 1991, he developed diabetes and I began giving him 2 insulin shots a day for the next 4 and a half years. Caring for him this way brought my love for him to a deeper and more profound level than I could have ever imagined possible. So I wouldn’t miss a shot, I would often bring him to Buffalo, NY with me when I came to record. We’d drive up together, “talking” the whole way. Smoke always responded to words: “Hi, Smoke”….”rrow” (rhymes with cow), “What’s up?”….”rrow, rrow..”, etc. I’d set him up in the studio, bring him into the vocal booth with me when I did vocals sometimes and it worked out fine.
In 1993, I began to realize that I would lose him one day, the diabetes was affecting his health, even though I was able most of the time to keep his sugar levels totally normal, I was maniacal about that. So I began to write about him, because I knew I could never do it once I lost him. And I didn’t want the song to be about loss. I wanted the song to be about love. And so was born, “Good Friends Are Hard To Find”. Anyone who has ever had this kind of friendship and love with one of these special friends understands the song immediately. They always know exactly what I mean.
I lost him on September 24, 1995. He was in my arms, looking into my face. He wasn’t put to sleep, that wasn’t necessary. He wasn’t in pain. I brought him to my vet on a Sunday night, but they could do no more for him. They wanted me to leave him but, of course, that wasn’t happening. They finally relented and locked me in the hospital with him, just the two of us. And I held him until he had to go.
Today is September 24, 2010. I am crying as I write this, on the 15th anniversary of his death. Sometimes, I forget how much it hurts. But I don’t mind the pain, he was so worth it. I’ll always love you, my Smokerboy.
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