I was browsing some old photo albums earlier and I came across this picture. I'm not sure when it was taken, but it had to have been close to 6-7 years ago.

This was my grandmother's cat, Chocho. Heh; odd name, no? Sounds Chinese I don't know the history of the name, but I do know the history of the cat. It has been retold to me many times.

My mom, as young teenager, had come across a guy giving away a litter of Siamese cats. Living in Bulgaria, Europe, where many people hardly had the money to feed themselves, let alone their pets, my mom had taken the runt of the litter; a small, undernourished kitten with the most stunning steel-blue eyes, in turn saving him from most certain death.

He was a gift to my grandma from her daughter; he was loved instantly. He was named, Chocho.

I don't remember him much. He was part of my life for a good 7 years. The early years, that is. When I lived in Bulgaria, before coming to the USA at the age of 4, I would constantly swap between my grandparent's houses. Both had a cat; my father's folks, a Himalayan beauty named "Pouh" (Pronounced: Poo-Huh | Meaning: Fluffy in Bulgarian,) and my mother's mom, the runty Siamese, Chochee (as my g'ma often called him.)

Now and days, my grandma often talks of her cat. She says he was very obedient, extremely friendly, and quite the character.

I, on the other hand, recall a snotty, vicious, and stuck-up Siamese male who would scratch, hiss, and bite anyone other then my grandmother. A standard example of the breed's characteristics, though; one thing I can't deny was his beauty.

I remember those eyes. Those clear, marble-marked blue eyes. Often I would watch Chocho as he lay in the sun; I would marvel at nut just the color, but the feeling, the humanity, in his eyes.

After we came to America, my grandma would often visit. Finally, situations called for her to move in with us. Chochee, around 14 at the time, too accustomed to his living quarters to be flown half way around the world- was to be left with my ex-step-grandfather. My grandma talked of the cat every day when they were split; he was her life.

Her ex-husband, however, hardly gave a hoot about the feline. The bastard took Chocho to his farm in the country, threw him out in the yard, and never looked back. My grandmother was furious- she would call cross-continent daily and yell at her ex-hubby to at least leave the cat water and food. He argued that, as a cat, Chocho should be able to hunt for himself and live off whatever water he found.

This continued for around 2 months. On the day my grandma's flight back to Bulgaria, she made a phone call home. My ex-step-grandpa had gone back to her house to clean it over for her. She asked if he'd brought Chocho back; there was silence.

I remember sitting on the couch at the time, watching TV. I heard the phone click. My grandmother walked away.

The only words she spoke before leaving for the airport that day... "Chochee is dead."

I am here now, years later, thinking. Chocho had been a house cat all his life, and suddenly he was sent out into the wild to live off his instincts. He had made it for some-7 weeks; after that, it had been too much to ask for. He wasn't young at the time, sure. But he definitely could have gone on longer if he was cared for properly. His life was taken by the insensitivity of one man.

My grandmother still lives with us. It's her birthday today. She doesn't know I'm posting this. I fear it will upset her, seeing the picture and scanning the story I've added with it; emotional women, she is.

I dare say she's moved on; our dog, Shadow, is her "canine son" now. She misses Chocho, yes, but time has healed her. She still looks down upon the actions of my ex-step-grandfather. But she's forgiven him.

I don't remember much about Chocho. I'm sure he was a good cat underneath all the hate he seemed to have for me Maybe I was just a bad child; wanting to treat him like the dog I did not have, and would not get until I was 9.

No, I don't recall much. But...

I remember those eyes.
I'll never forget those eyes.

(Forgive the dramatic tone. I started writing and I couldn't stop. The quality of this picture is rather poor; it's old, yes. I dared not play with it. I felt no need to. Full view please. And... I believe that's all I have to say. I'm done )