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   Seldom has anything hurt as much as loosing our cat Tagger (short for Tag-Along which we named him because he followed us everywhere at first).  It was too much to talk about as we buried him this morning and is almost too hard to write about today.  He was hit on the highway yesterday and Cheryl saw his body lying on the side of the road when she went to check the mail.  If you didn't know Tagger and didn't live here, it would be hard to understand.  He was not so much a pet as a spirit who lived here with us.  He seemed to be everywhere we went outside.  When he was young he would follow us.  But at two years old and especially during the summer, he spent most of his time outside, napping in hidden spots in the garden, dashing across open ground and way up into trees for exercise.  When he was relaxed, he was very relaxed.  When he ran, he was lightning fast.  He would surprise you by rubbing up against your leg outside any time of day or night.
   You would catch a glimpse of him drinking from the bird bath or lying in the grass surveying the grounds.  He was quick to put our dog, Gretchen, on the defensive when she first arrived but would rub up under her chin and nuzzle her in the nose as she became one of the family.  Watching us play fetch-the-ball with Gretchen was mostly a spectator sport for him, but regularly, he would crouch somewhere along her return path and make a dash at her so she would drop the ball.  She got to be pretty wary of the cat while returning the ball.
   Every night he would come in to nap on Cheryl's lap while she watched TV.  And then he would be out again hunting mice until the wee hours when he would come back in and curl up next to her in bed to sleep.  He would eat his food sparingly.  At first he would bring his catches in to share.  We save several birds from him that way until he learned not to bring prey back into the house.  Early on, we had to move the hummingbird feeder, partly to keep it cooler on the shady side of the house, and partly to keep him from leaping off the house and catching a bird mid-air while it was feeding.  The Bluebirds may feel safe enough to come back in the garden now but his spirit will always be there.
   We buried him up in the new grape vineyard under a tuft of soft grass where just the day before yesterday he lay down soaking up the morning sun and watching Gretchen fetch the ball while I worked on the grape vines.  He was the ultimate cool cat, not wanting too much attention but never neglecting to come over and say hi if you were nearby.  Almost always, he would stop to stretch in a version of a downward-facing dog Yoga pose before coming over for a pet.  He liked to perch on the sink or the window sill watching the yard and would often wait for you to open the door before dashing in or out.  So he seemed to be right there or nearby, even if you couldn't see him almost all the time.  Now he is gone, or at least we won't seem him again.  But I doubt if I will ever walk around the place without feeling that somehow he is still here.