Avatar was approximately one and a half years old when we brought him home from our local Humane Society on May 18, 1982. We were looking for a black kitten and found a full-grown Classic Colorpoint Shorthair (lynxpoint Siamese) instead. He was crouched and sleeping in his cage. When he opened his huge sapphire eyes, we were hooked. He had been a stray who seemed to have weathered street life quite well. He wasn't thin and obviously had a previous home as he was neutered. He went nameless for a week after he came to share our lives. We tried to find a name to match his persona. We toyed with something Arthurian because he raised the normal cat-dignity to heights that could only be called noble. He was nearly Lancelot. There were moments in that week when just to see him stride into a room and take possession of it made the hairs stand up on the back of the neck. "Maybe he's Merlin", we thought. Certainly, he's more than a little magical. Finally, we decided to call him what he is, an avatar, the physical manifestation of some deity who had condescended to spend a stretch of time with mere mortals. Since Avatar's nose was gold, we chose Tycho as his middle name. Tycho Brahe (1546-1601) was a Danish astronomer who was reputed to have a fake nose made of gold. Avatar's last name is Magickcatte. Actually, that's probably the family name of all lynxpoints.

Avatar's personality was gentle and extremely loving. He had an extensive vocabulary, accentuated with question marks and exclamation points.

For most of his life, Avatar's health was robust. But in January of 1995, he began to lose weight and was vomiting frequently. Blood tests results showed he was in the early stages of chronic renal failure. And so began our fight with this disease. We put him on a subcutaneous fluid schedule and tried to get him to eat the proper diet. We had an extremely difficult time, although he did temporarily gain most of his lost weight back. In the end, after maybe ten months of coaxing and pleading, we gave it up and fed him the tuna he wanted to eat. Eventually, he wasn't even interested in tuna and we experimented with appetite stimulants without much success. In January of 1996, one year after the original diagnosis, his creatinine went to 8.2 and BUN was 129. He was put on IV fluids for two days and we thought for sure we would lose him. To our amazement, our little boy bounced back!

At this time he also began to lose weight at a consistent rate. From December, 1995 to January, 1997, he had lost a total of five pounds.

We tried everything we could. Chicken worked. Whatever else we gave him might or might not be eaten, but he ALWAYS ate his chicken. So, three (or more) times a day, we shredded chicken meat for him.

His weight remained stable at about eight pounds for the rest of his life. He weathered several crises during 1997. They became more frequent and his ability to shake them off diminished each time.

By the end of September, he was very weak, frequently ill and shedding copiously. We agonized over the question of whether the time had come. We felt certain from having observed his struggle for the last three years, that he could survive a week or two longer. Our concern was that he would suffer in the end. The whole point of the care we had given him for nearly three years had been to keep him from suffering. It seemed absurd to force him to experience the worst symptoms of end-stage renal failure. With leaden hearts, we made the fateful decision.

On October 7th, his favorite vet and most devoted technician came to the house to provide him a final service. We all wept as we said our final goodbyes, then released him as gently as possible from the grip of the affliction he had fought so valiantly for so long.

Who could believe that such a small creature could leave such an enormous void? We loved him so! We loved him the moment we got him home and loved him up to the moment of his death and will love him still in years to come. This Web site is his monument and his immortality.

The e-mail and snail-mail condolences we've received since October 7, 1997 have been extremely moving, very beautiful and totally overwhelming. He was not ours, alone. His life, his valiant struggle and his passing have touched so many people.

Carol and David DiFiori