NORTH LITTLE ROCK (June 20) - Today is the longest day of the year. So I started it right.

I met the owner of the liquor store at 9:15 a.m. and bought a keg and the makings for Opie's Punch. At 10:23, I tapped the keg of Fat Tire and proceeded to get a beer bath (it's been awhile since I did this for a living). I'm marinated shish-k-bobs for later today.

It's been 10 years since my last Solstice party, and I'm starting to remember why. First: Solstice tends to happen mid-week, and most people work during the week. Second: Last time I had a Solstice party, the undercover police showed up. Now, I knew them, but my guests didn't feel they could relax if the po-po sat nearby.

But I digress. I know Lil' Chuck's coming to play and Alice and Mars plan to initiate an art installation. Maybe the promise of chess, dominoes and canasta wasn't enough for some. Hmmmmmm...

I thought about canceling the party after last week when I had to put Kilroy down.

Cat Myths

Moon Goddess Diana created a smaller version of the lion, the cat. A cat lies at the feet of the Roman goddess Libertas. According to Russian folklore, a black cat put in a baby's cradle will ward off evil. Henry VII claimed a mischievious cat trapped him into marriage. The French once considered the cat as a symbol of freedom. Mohammed preached with a cat cradled in his arms. Burman priests worship golden-eyed  Sinh.

I never really considered myself a cat person (I didn't steal that line from Willie Morris, though I realize he said something similar about Spit McGee). Although my baby blanket featured kittens, I never owned a cat as a child. Dogs, lots of dogs, but no felines. The only memory of cats I have from childhood is reading about the Egyptians idolizing them.

I didn't live with a cat until the early 1990s, when Tracy Hayes gave me a kitten named Merkedes. Coincidentally, that was around the time Tanya and I dated. Anyway, Merkedes went crazy after I moved out of a trailer and into a farm house in Scott, Ark., that sat on 130 acres. I was the only human he'd approach after we moved. He died with a poisoned rat in his mouth. He'd been around for about a year.

I didn't plan to get another cat, but graduate school and a bad break-up changed things. I'd moved into an efficiency apartment on the third floor of Knoxville's Riverhouse on West Hill. The whole room was about as big as my living room now.

Glen Harris talked me into taking home a kitten from the offspring of Boomer, a Tennessee alley cat, and Jezebel, a Himalayan. I once saw Boomer spring from a prone position on the sidewalk, four feet into the air to take down a low-flying bird.

Kilroy plays cat'n'mouse.

I picked out the runt of the litter and named him Kilroy, after the nickname given to a cousin who died in a motorcycle accident when I was a kid. Kilroy and I went back to the Riverhouse and bonded. Well, kind of.

The Riverhouse sits next to the Tennessee River and across the hilltop from Neyland Stadium at the University of Tennessee. I never believed my family when they talked about walking uphill both ways to school until I attended UT. I still think they were full of it, but I've got proof. Anyway, I'd walk to school or occasionally ride my bike. Every afternoon when I'd come home, I could see Kilroy in the window waiting for me. By the time I crossed the street to my block, I could hear him whining, which wouldn't stop until I'd climbed to the third floor to unlock the door.

After a while, the whining got to me and I decided Kilroy needed a playmate. So I went back to Glen and Christine's and picked up his brother, Pep. I often refer to them as "The Boyz." I even started writing about them.

That's my boyz — the predators.

   

Kilroy (bottom) slashes out while Pep stares in the efficiency apartment at The Riverhouse.

Oh sure, they'll fool you into thinking they're laid back — sprawled on their backs in the noonday sun on my waterbed like puddles, expecting me to pet them or something. They refuse to even let the bed waves disturb them. Instead, they'll act like they were born to sail.

   But wait for a bug to fly in the window ... you'd think Armageddon's begun. Off the bed lightning quick. Little black hairs flying into the air and onto my computer screen.

   Kilroy goes left; Pep goes right. They strategically surround the enemy, even allowing it to think there's a possible escape. Yeh, right.

   The Game Begins.

   At first, it's just a swipe of the paw, enough to stagger but not kill. If the enemy has wings, now's the time to fly. If not, grim reality sets in.

   Sometimes the game lasts a minute ... sometimes 15. Depends on how much fun the Boyz want to have. But it always ends the same.

   Another dead bug. Another happy cat. Another day.

The first group photo of me and the boyz.

The Riverhouse sat across the street from Lord Lindsey's Mansion, a fancy old columned house where people would dance Saturday nights and schools would hold Prom. One day, I noticed a wedding across the street.

The apartment was hot, so I opened the windows. The Boyz had been cramped up so they sauntered in and out of the french windows, much to the distaste of one middle-aged man sitting across the street on the veranda of the mansion. I probably wouldn't have noticed him at all. Had his wife not stared with dropped jaw into my window. Had the wedding photographer not gazed to where I stood as well. Had the man not shown me a disdainful look as I sauntered past the window. Weddings being the superstitious affair they are, well, you see the dilemma. But I wasn't going to bring my black cats back in the room just to please a superstitious lady who gawked and her husband with his menacing scowl.

Kilroy at Laurel apartment

I moved to Laurel Avenue and had perhaps the only showdown over the cats I ever encountered. I was dating a Croatian who told me it was either her or the Boyz. I told her she could go; she came back later.

Kilroy and Pep kept me sane during that time of graduate school. I couldn't take myself seriously when a cat would walk across the keyboard as I worked. I went on a trip to the Dakotas with Anne Cunningham and left Christina Haines to watch the boyz. I called back to check on them and Stina tells me Kilroy's been gone for two days. I told her if he didn't come back in the next day or so, I didn't expect him to return. I called back the next day and he'd stopped by for dinner.

Ron and the Boyz outside the Laurel apartment

I returned to the Laurel house after an extended hiatus at the Haines property on 44 acres on the side of a mountain in Clinton, Tenn. I stepped out on the porch one morning to find a man holding his doberman at the length of its leash. I looked over the railing to see Kilroy with three legs down and one up, swinging side-to-side, ready to give the doberman the what-for. The man looked at me and said, "He's not afraid of much, is he." I replied, "He lived with a Rottweiler for awhile." The man and dog moved on.

I moved to Ohio to teach at Muskingum College and The Boyz rode in the window of the U-Haul or slept in my lap, too haughty to stay in any damn car carrier. It's easy to claim they should be in the carrier, but you try dealing with screaming cats on a 425-mile trip.

The Boyz didn't deal too well with the raccoons who kept eating their food off the front porch of my cabin. Nor did they deal too well with the screeching as I learned to play harmonicas. But they never left for good. We all returned to Clinton to the Haines property, a.k.a. House of Misfit Toys. We seemed to fit in and I put the finishing touches on the dissertation.

Kilroy at home on Broken Arrow

When I returned to North Little Rock, I didn't know what the Boyz would think about it. They'd never been west of the Mississippi River. But once again, they adjusted. We moved into Hickory Hill Condominiums, which featured floor level windows that pop open. I rigged mine so the Boyz could go in and out no matter what time of year.

My brother, David, would check on the Boyz whenever I'd go out of town. One day he walked in and didn't see them, but went out to the porch to fix their food. As he came back inside, Kilroy and Pep were flying into the room hot on the trail of a rat. David said he jumped on the couch and had to walk across furniture to get out the door.

On another occasion, David and I were watching television as Kilroy sauntered in with a bird in his mouth. Once he set it down, the bird tried flying. Dave and I both jumped out of our seats, but Kilroy quickly put the bird out of it's misery.

When Tanya and I started dating again, Kilroy was the first to seek her out for pats. Since we've been married, I can only think of one disagreement between the two. Before we found out he'd been shot on Friday, April 13, the doctor thought Kilroy had arthritis. We had to pop pills into his mouth, which caused him to foam at the mouth for hours. It got so bad that he'd have ropes of saliva coming out of his mouth when Tanya walked into the room. They've since made peace.

br>The last month has been hard watching him and wondering if he'd get better. For awhile he seemed fine, as he walked up and down the stairs and seemed to get his equilibrium back. I even took him to the vet last Friday to get his annual shots. But he took a turn for the worse last weekend.

Last photo of Ron and The Boyz, Kilroy on right

We were in Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge on the Excursion from Hell. We'd finally started heading west when Kelli called to tell me Kilroy couldn't move and ask if she should take him to the emergency clinic. I told her to wait until we got in before taking him. We got there around midnight and drove directly there, where they ran blood tests and x-rays. The doctor said his drop from 13 lbs to 9 lbs primarily came from atrophy of the muscle in his hind quarters. We took him home and tried to decide what to do. I tried to help him to the litter box Monday night, but when I returned, he'd fallen in it. He didn't seem to care, though, as we cleaned him up. You know a cat is sick when it doesn't pitch a bitch about getting wet.

Tanya fed Kilroy buffalo meatballs in beef gravy Monday night, and lump crab meat twice Tuesday (both meals accompanied by diluted milk). He sat in my lap nearly all day both days and we gave him a lot of love. But he wasn't getting any better.

We took him to the regular vet Tuesday afternoon. It was rough. They gave him a sedative shot that made him jump, but it was supposed to calm him. Then the doctor gave Kilroy the "death shot," but the first one didn't kill him; so they gave him another. I just sat there holding him, watching with tears rolling down my face. What was I to do? It sucked. I had Kilroy with me almost 10 years.

Afterwards, we took Kilroy home. The dogs came up to sniff as we walked through the door, but Pep, Kilroy's brother, just wanted some wet food. I took Kilroy's remains to the hillside sliding down to the bottom of our back yard. I started digging with a mattock and shovel, but around 2 feet down, I hit bedrock. I went ahead and buried him there. Tanya built up an additional two feet by placing a catnip plant on top of him surrounded by cedar mulch; I hope we can keep the dogs away.

Final resting spot for Kilroy my boy

I thought about getting really drunk, but I didn't even feel like doing that. I woke up looking around for Kilroy before rememberin' he's not here. This last week, I've thought I've heard him in the hall or in the garage. Some of you may think I'm crazy for spending so much space writing about a cat, but to me, Kilroy was my bud. I miss him.

That's enough of rememberin'; I'm ready to forget. Wish you were here, but have a wonderful solstice and know you're in my thoughts. To prove it, here's the recipe for Opie's Punch:

1 jigger Southern Comfort
1/2 jigger Amaretto
Pineapple, Cranberry and Orange Juices

Warning: Drink slowly or you may find yourself on the floor! That being said, it's starting out to be a slow party. Not that I mind. I realize some people love to make late appearances. Still, there's a keg to finish and Lil' Chuck just showed, so it's time to unload the band equipment. Hope you have a GREAT solstice.