From the moment I bought my Oriental Shorthair Augie at a cat show in Texas, he latched onto me and formed what one vet called "a neurotic attachment." As soon as I walked in the door every day, he'd fly at me and stick like a big swath of orange Velcro. His preferred position was perched on my hip, like a big tabby baby, his head under my chin. Sometimes I took his paw in my hand and pretended we were dancing. When I was in grad school and gone all day, I'd come home to find him hoarse from a full day of meowing. Basically, he was tragically needy--and we needed each other. Soon after I got him, I became ill and had to be hospitalized. Most of all, I hated that hospitalization because Augie and I were apart. Over the next seven years, I'd be in and out of hospitals, and trying desperately to finish school. No matter what happened, Augie was by my side, and I felt like it was just the two of us against  the world. An ex-boyfriend once suggested Augie should have been taken away from me when I was ill. But the cat was always my priority, and many times he pulled me through. Up until the end, Augie and I were a team. All he wanted in life was to be held. So I held him. I'm holding him still, and I hope he knows that--wherever he is.