Blogphilosophy: today my hero died

Today my hero died. This is not a euphemism, he really was my hero. He showed me on many occasion that actions define your place in the world. We lived together for 17 years. Making our way through life, mostly doing our own thing. At times having to cope with the wishes or limitations from others. He taught me that activism is a way of life: if you decide upon an action, you go for it full-heartedly (he thought he was a black panther). He explored every new environment with care, yet a great determination to find every crevice, nook and cranny (compared to him Dr. Livingstone was a softie, though he would never tell anything bad about anyone). He protected his family: saving me from many spiders, sweeping them from the walls, floors and any surface he could reach (I do not want to kill spiders, but am scared of them nevertheless). His agility even let him pick bats out of the sky (though he did not find them very tasty and he did not understand why I incessantly tried to save them). He showed me that any movement should always be graceful (what grace!), that being polite is easy and comes natural (coming home was always noticed by a friendly welcoming message), and that any action undertaken should be brave (even if you are small, looking big will give you a head start). In his last year, he even taught my one year old son how to walk tall and with flair. They would walk side by side, prancing around. He would have told him how to catch a mouse, climb trees, climb the garden fence ... explore the world.  But death got to him first ... and part of my heart broke.

How strange it is to feel physical pain, where I thought I would cope more easily with loosing a 17 year old, brave furry friend. I watched over him during his last night (he cried every time we (my partner and I) left him alone on the couch, so it was natural to stay with him during his last moments on this blue planet..

 I picked him out of a bunch of small kittens, based on him being the one leaping into action: jumping from refrigerators (8 weeks old), determined to explore, and all the while talking loud and proud (he was one quarter Siamese which every veterinarian guessed immediately based on his amazing drive to talk). In his lifetime he lost an eye during a street cat alley battle. After a few hard weeks he simply learned how to jump and move around basing his movements on his newly found perspective (sulking would only keep him from new experiences, so moving on was a normal way of life).  He lifted my spirit, he was a companion during a couple of divorces, several professional challenges, hard times and - oh lucky us - wonderful, glorious, happy times.

I miss my hero. His voice, his warm body on my lap, his insistence to come outside to play, his winking eye, his companionship... I miss you Schiele. I wanted you by my side for the rest of my life, my dear old friend.