by Rich Pasco
I am saddened to report the tragic and untimely death of a lifetime naturist, Squeaky Cat Pasco.
Squeaky was born at the Lupin Naturist Club in Los Gatos ("The Cats" in Spanish) sometime in the late spring of 1987. Matt and I adopted her and brought her home that summer. She got her name when she was too tiny to meow; all she could do was squeak!
Love was always most important to Squeaky. Her little squeak sought the reassurance that she was loved; it was as if to say, "You still love me, don't you?" She really had little reason to doubt it, except perhaps when Mittens came to live with us; it took Squeaky a while to share her home with another cat, but she soon learned to tolerate her, and even care for her as she apparently worried when Mittens was late coming home.
Squeaky's love was freely given, too. She would sit in my lap for hours and purr, and every so often reach up and gently stroke my cheek with her paw, as I stroked hers with my finger and whispered sweetnesses to her. We often shared those moments, with all the tenderness and reverence of a HAI workshop exercise.
When Cheryl came to live with us, Squeaky's bed was moved to the garage. Every time I arrived home, or passed through the garage to depart, Squeaky would come to me and ask, "You still love me, don't you?" I would pick her up and hug her, and she would beam and purr. On special occasions, she would come in to sit on her towel by the fireplace, where she would purr for hours just to be close by. When we walked down the street to gather firewood, Squeaky would follow; she clearly enjoyed the adventure, and I suspect she anticipated the warmth the wood would bring. Summer days sunbathing on the patio always included Squeaky, who would sit on a corner of our blanket and purr in delight at our togetherness and warmth.
On Monday, December 6, 1993, while Cheryl and I were out to dinner, Squeaky made an untimely dash across the street in front of the house. Her head was hit by a speeding car, and she died instantly. The driver disappeared without a trace. We found her body, still warm, when we returned home.
Squeaky, in her six and a half years, led a true naturist life. Born at a nudist resort, she never wore a stitch of clothing, and never cared whether I did or not. She lived pure love, asked for 100% of what she wanted, 100% of the time, appreciated what she was given, and never acted out in anger in any way. I will miss her.