Strolch's Home Page


Here is Strolch, my beautiful Siamese, son of the late Jo-Shu (Ed's cat). He died in 2010.

Strolch in August 2009

On July 20, 2010 Strolch died. This is the e-mail I sent to my friends: 

Strolch, the cat whose name no-one could pronounce who was not born in Germany, and who was my constant companion for over 17 years, died this evening. Strolch had a tumor in his sinuses that had been growing slowly. A year ago the vet gave him only three months to live, but with steroids we managed to slow the tumor’s growth, and Strolch lived out all of his nine lives.

I had Strolch him since he was a kitten. Beate named him; his name means “Little Rascal.” In his first year, Strolch helped me through the ordeal of studying for the Chartered Financial Analyst exam. When I was sitting at the desk with my books, he’d climb up my pants by digging in his little claws, then jump on the table and chase the pen with which I was taking notes until he got tired and dropped off to sleep next to the books or on my lap.

Strolch was an affectionate cat; he would start to purr the moment I picked him up. He was a Siamese, and he formed the singular attachments of his breed. He bonded with me early on, and then tolerated the rest of the world. He and I loved each other without reservations, and he trusted me completely. He would come to me when I called him, rare for a cat.

As a Siamese Strolch had personality to spare, and he could be demanding: still last week he jumped up on my desk, looked straight at me and with a loud Siamese “Meow!” demanded that I pick him up and pet him, something he did all his life when he thought I had not been paying him the attention he was due. He used to sleep on top of me at night, his paws on my collarbone and his face next to mine, and he’d rub his face against me when the mood struck him.

I had been prepared for Strolch’s end ever since the diagnosis last year, and I considered every day with him a gift, treasuring each moment we spent together. Three days ago he still had a healthy appetite and gobbled down a huge portion of Liz’ antelope. And then suddenly he stopped, the tumor had enlarged, he did not want to eat anymore, and even shunned my attention. It was clear that something had changed drastically in the last two days, and I became convinced today that he was suffering, and that had always been my mental end point. Tanya, our neighbor, the vet who helped Bandit on his last day, concurred with me that steroids wouldn’t work any more, and she gently put him to sleep this evening while I held him, saying goodbye to him and crying.

I am very, very sad; I’ll miss Strolch the rest of my life; I feel numb, but I’m at peace; I know that I did the right thing. Strolch had a good life, he was well taken care of and loved by Beate, Sonia and me, and I made sure that he did not suffer unnecessarily at the end. I am very grateful to have spent over a decade and a half with such a wonderful creature as a close friend and companion.

Like with Bandit last year, our neighbors came with a backhoe and dug a grave for him. He now lies buried next to Bandit, and we will plant roses on his final resting place.

As we dug his grave, we saw from the indentations in the grass that all five of our horses had lain down to sleep last week forming a circle around Bandit’s grave.


Strolch as a Kitten Christmas '92

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