Tosca was born in San Pedro, CA, a small beach town just between 
Long Beach and Palos Verdes in the South Bay Los Angeles area. His mother 
was an alley cat that Samantha's sister fed fairly often-she eventually 
adopted her and has her to this day. He was the most beautiful of the 
litter, with sharply defined tiger stripes, and a rambunctious 
personality. He spent his first nine months in Samantha's San Pedro 
apartment, where he gleefully destroyed anything he could, and delighted 
in attacking the feet of Samantha and myself at 4 am, while we tried in 
vain to sleep. He just couldn't understand why we were sleeping at such a 
wonderful time of day. 

     Eventually this kind of behavior started to drive Sam nuts. So when 
I moved to Austin to attend UT, and offered to take him with me, she was 
pretty happy to sleep past 4am. So, at nine months of age, Tosca and I 
departed for the state of Texas at about 8pm on an August evening in  
'94. In my 70 VW bus, with all our possessions. We made it all the way to 
I-15 (about an hour from San Pedro), when Tosca had enough. He let go of 
a bowel full of diarrhea, in the cat carrier, then proceeded to walk in 
it. The smell was atrocious, so we pulled over to a Shell station, and 
used the hose to clean Tosca and the cat carrier as much as possible. I'd 
originally planned to camp near Flagstaff AZ, but the idea of a friendly 
cat with smelly feet in a pup tent was rather unpleasing. We found a 
motel, took a shower, and cuddled up to sleep away the heat of the day. 
Later that afternoon, we packed up and hit the road again. About 2 miles 
into our journey, Tosca went ballistic. He was **not at all** interested 
in another day in the cat carrier and on the road. I was seriously 
concerned he would hurt himself trying to bite his way out of the 
carrier. So I found a pet shop in Flagstaff, and bought him a leash. He 
spent most of the remaining thousand miles contentedly sleeping, and 
purring, in my lap.

     My first year at UT was tough. I didn't know *anyone* in Texas. 
Tosca didn't either. I attended school all day, then worked in a BBQ 
restaurant until around 9 every night. Then I would come home, wrestle 
with Tosca for a while, and read all my email-most of it from the VW 
Vanagon list which I found shortly after arriving in Austin. Sometimes 
I'd play my guitar a little bit, other times Tosca and I would watch TV 
together. He didn't really care, just liked to see me. It was during this 
time that I discovered Tosca was a He. As he walked away one day with his 
tail in the air, and there was the Major 2nd my music theory teacher 
always talked about. When he was given to Samantha they said Tosca was a 
girl, which is why he got the name of Tosca-named after the operatic 
character. We decided that he was really named after Toscaninni. Yeah, 
right. When I slept in that 1 bedroom apartment, I was not alone. Tosca 
slept each and every night, on my back. He was my buddy, and I was his. 

     Samantha moved out here, bringing Kitty and Indra, and eventually 
Tosca and I drifted apart. He still slept on me sometimes, but there were 
more friends around, and they were home all the times I wasn't.  We still 
had that special bond, but it was never again like those lonely first 
months in that little South Austin apartment.

     Last year he began to have problems with Feline Urinary Syndrome. We 
kept him on the good food, and the FUS medicines, but he never really got 
better. He had a urinary tract surgery while we were on our run to Inuvik 
last summer, and had chronic backups ever since. About a month and a half 
ago, he started breathing really heavily. After a day of waiting to see 
if it would go away, we took him to the vet. They ran several tests on 
him, suspecting one of 3 possible feline viruses. After 3 days of waiting 
for lab work, the results came back negative. So I left work early, and 
took him into the vet. He stayed for 7 days, hooked up to IVs. The vet 
drained 200ml of infectious fluid from his lungs on the 1st day, and 
180ml on the second. He was a sick kitty, but he kept on fighting. After 
he finally seemed to stabilize, he came home. I had to administer two 
injections daily of antibiotics for about 5 weeks, and he had weekly 
checkups. Last week he went into the vet and seemed pretty good, no 
fluids for about a month. So we stopped the daily injections. Two days 
later he began to develop a skin condition. The vet suspected ringworm, 
so we put him on that medicine. After a couple of more days his condition 
had worsened dramatically. He had open sores on his forelegs, seeping 
fluid. We put him back on the daily injections, to fight the infections.

     I gave him a bath last night for the ringworm. He looked at me with 
a hurt, angry, sorrowful look, and let out a yowl. I knew he was asking 
"why are you *doing* this to me??" I felt pretty bad, and tried to tell 
him it was for his own good. Today, I loaded up his injections, got his 
pills, and headed back to pull him out from under the bed. He was so 
lethargic I thought he was dead. Finally, he moved. I pulled him out from 
under the bed, and he couldn't even hold up his head. I didn't think he 
would make it through the night. His time had clearly come. 

     I called the vets answering service, and they said they didn't know 
if they had the phone number for Dr. Rimkunas, who had been Toscas 
physician for all this time. They said they'd either call him, or call me 
back. After 10 minutes, I got the phone book and found his home phone, 
and spoke with him. I broke down on the phone while I described Toscas 
pitiful condition. After regaining my composure I asked him to Euthanize 
my friend. We met 10 minutes later at the clinic. Samantha drove me 
there, and I held Tosca in my arms all the way. When we got him inside, 
he couldn't even stand on his own, he just laid there on the table and 
gave that yowl. Dr. Rimkunas prepared an overdose of anesthesia, and I 
held Tosca tightly while he drove the plunger home. He removed the 
tourniquet, and Samantha and I let Tosca know we loved him as he faded 
out. 

     Tosca died at the age of 4 and a half, about 8:15, today, Sunday May 
25, 1997, in my arms while I sobbed on him. I lost my favorite cat, and 
my friend. 

Peace,
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Edmund A. Hintz              **|**     "You may say I'm a dreamer,
Tenor and Mac Techie        *  |  *      But I'm not the only one...
<ed@hintz.org>             *  /|\  *     I hope someday you'll join us,
'70 Primered Transporter    */ | \*      And the world will live as one.
'73 Orange Super Beetle      *****      Imagine."
                   Web page: http://www.hintz.org
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