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I moved to Manhattan in the summer of 1996. In one of those serendipitous quirks of life, I wanted to move into the city to be closer to my job at the same time an old college (Rutgers, not CUA) roommate was making plans to attend NYU grad school. We found a place on E. 7th St. near Avenue B that I would kill to have now. Two bedrooms for $1275! Two weeks after we moved in I was walking home and near my door was a homeless guy with a cardboard box. Apparently earlier in the day a woman in a car had stopped at the corner of A and 7th, gotten out, handed the homeless guy the box and then drove away. He was saying "I can't even take care of myself! What am I gonna do with these cats?!" There were two, both calico, one gray and white, one caramel colored and white. I hesitated, then grabbed the tiny gray and white kitty and brought him home. As I was walking away another woman did the same with the other kitten. My roommate was a little surprised, but damn, who can resist a tiny kitten? I named him Elvis. No one knows this but it was because I had a crush on Ryan, who at that time was my coworker and best friend.

I took him to work with me the next day so that I could dash off to the vet on my lunch. We kept him in the support area, in a giant box that some modem racks had come in and everyone came by to play with him. I remember I carried him to the vet in my backpack and after his checkup I stopped by a customer's studio to hand deliver our install disks because she lived on the same block as the vet. Ah, the days of NYC local ISPs...

The roommate and I grew far far apart after she started dating the Anti-Christ. By that time Ryan and I were dating and I was spending all my time a few blocks away at his apartment even though he already had one roommate. Finally I gave up the apartment altogether and lived fulltime with Ryan and Rudy and Elvis while searching for a place of my own. The economy had already kicked in by then and my search was a bust till I joined forces with Senor T and we found ourself a nice yet bizarre 2 bedroom on 6th and B. It was at that point that the El Vez and I parted. He stayed with Ryan, as T wasn't really into having a pet. Besides at that point Ryan was permanently attached to the Vez and was more than happy to keep him close.

That year, Vez got sick. He was very meowly which was incredibly odd as his normal state was pretty much mute. Also he peed everywhere and anywhere which was also incredibly out of character. We took him to the Animal Medical Center ("We have great service and it shows. In your bill. Your ENORMOUS bill.") and discovered he had that condition where cats form crystals in their bladder, making it hard to pee. Sorta like kitty kidney stones. With boy cats it can be life threatening, as their, um, equipment is more easily blocked by the crystals. Dr. Noelle was a motherfucking angel who did everything in her power to fix him with as little expense as possible. She averted the necessity of surgery by first trying to flush him out and it ended up working and saving us $5000 that we of course couldnt afford but were more than willing to spend.

T went off to grad school after our lease was up and I moved in with Ryan again, this time just the two of us, living in sin with our cat who had grown into something more akin to a puma or a jeguwa than an ordinary housecat. Seriously, he was HUGE. I think it started when he lived with Ryan, Rudy and I - he played us off each other like a mastermind. To Rudy: "They haven't fed me in days. Please, take pity on me!" To Ryan: "The girl forgot me again, before she left for work. I swear. to god." To me: "I'm cuuuuuuuute! And hungry." And so on, for years. He got up to at least 20lbs. I once sent an email to pamie because I realized her cat Taylor and Elvis were like twins. And she wrote me back, which was cool and for which I have Vez to thank.

When Ryan and I broke up he got "custody" of Elvis. While it made me feel a little like a deadbeat mom who leaves her family to go be a cocktail waitress in Vegas, I knew it was the right thing, the only thing, to do because I just could not separate Ryan and Elvis. And it's not like I actually was deadbeat mom, we're still best friends and I only moved next door. I missed him a lot more when I moved out here to Brooklyn.

Last night K-dub did one of those things that I love her for. She fucking CAMPED OUT in front of Sam Goody's all night long in order to get tickets to the Foo Fighters Halloween show. Ryan joined her because he also wanted tickets and is able to go into work late. The foo saga is best told by those two. I got a message after 9 from K that they had indeed succeeded in getting the tickets so when Ryan called soon after I figured he was also passing on the good news. However he was actually calling with awful news. He got back to his apartment around 9:30am to shower and change for work and found Elvis had died. We don't know how or why, Ryan says he found him curled up in his chair in a peaceful sleeping pose. Then he called me at work and told me.

I don't know what else to say. I am so very very sad. I remember what it felt like to leave Elvis at the animal hospital overnight when he was sick. The house was so empty then. I'm so sorry, Ryan.

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