So Long Lafitte

It is with sadness that The Great Plotnik announces the passing of the infamous Lafitte Pussycat (can't find a photo, but we will), the terrorist cat who lived next door and made our cat R.L.'s life so miserable for so many months when we first moved to World Headquarters.

Lafitte was a big, orange Alpha Pussy.

Poor R.L. was very disoriented when the Plotniks wrenched him from Stiletto City, took the vet's advice and gave him a sedative (never again) for the ride up, then plunked him in his new house. When he woke up, he took one look at things and ran into the backyard and was not seen for several days. When he finally showed back up, he was starving, had a scar on his ear and a new orange enemy living next door.

Not really an enemy, though -- Lafitte saw his job as enforcing territorial imperatives. He had long considered World Headquarters his headquarters, and wasn't about to let a newbie gray-and-white Hollywood kid change his mind.

What R.L. had going for him, though, was fat. He was twice Lafitte's size. It was probably that brawn, and R.L.'s non-Alpha nature (he was probably a Psi if not a total Omega) that allowed the two to work things out and become, if not friends, certainly respected compatriots whose passing one another on the garden path deserved a twitch of the tail but not much else.

Then, when R.L. was dying, Lafitte decided he would watch out for him, to scare away the demons that cats must fear when they crawl into a dark place to spend their final moments.

R.L. chose the artichoke plants at the rear of the yard, and Lafitte plunked himself down fifteen feet away to wait with him. Nothing and no one could budge him. If you came near, Lafitte would arch his back and snarl. This went on for several days. Plotnik has always considered Lafitte's stewardship of R.L.'s final passage to be a supreme sign of friendship, and he loved Lafitte even more afterwards.

The old boy moved to Sonoma last year, and was about to celebrate his 21st birthday. A little frail and quite thin, apparently he fell into the swimming pool, thrashed around and was unable to get out before he had a seizure, and...well.

Adios, Lafitty Kitty, you were a fine old boy. All we Plotniks wish you well. When you see R.L. we hope he kicks your ass just once, before settling down to a comfortable life together of old times, stories and endless self-opening cans of tuna.