The following is a memorial tribute to the person who first introduced
me to Lilian Jackson Braun's "The Cat Who..." series, on the fifth
anniversary of her death on Thursday, July 27, 1995.
Sherry was my best friend, a truly remarkable individual. She was 15 years older than me, but the age difference was easy to forget. Her outlook on life was modern and enthusiastic, her cheerfulness contagious. Her mind was sharp and clear, and she never tired of learning and exploring new knowledge. These traits were all the more impressive considering the condition of the body in which that mind was trapped. Born in 1942 to a mother who had suffered three illnesses while carrying her, Sherry came into the world with multiple disabilities. She was born with no vision in one eye and 20/200 vision in the other; when she was 12 years old she became totally blind. She was completely deaf in her left ear and had a 60% hearing loss in the right one. During her lifetime more and more physical problems emerged, about which her many doctors could do less and less as time went by. Nevertheless, Sherry bore and raised two children, involved herself deeply in volunteer work, and survived two very difficult divorces that she didn't want. She responded to the first divorce by enrolling in college to become a social worker, but her worsening health prevented her from finishing her degree. Still, she continued to inspire those around her until her body finally wore out. At the age of 53, she departed this life peacefully in her sleep.
In the years during which I knew Sherry, she was not affluent. In fact, she was nearly indigent, living on the SSI and Medicaid benefits that the government became increasingly reluctant to give her. One would think that after her death she would not have much to leave to anyone. She left me a wonderful treasure, though. She left me "The Cat Who...".
Sherry's favorite pastime was reading. She received regular deliveries of talking books from the local library, and the librarians knew that mystery stories were among her favorite types of literature. I remember only vaguely her enthusiastic descriptions of this wonderful series of mystery novels that featured Siamese cats as the main characters. Although I loved cats, I hadn't read much fiction about them and didn't respond to Sherry's frequent encouragement to begin. Taking the initiative, as she usually did, Sherry gave me two paperback "Cat Who" novels as a birthday present: "Saw Red" and "Came to Breakfast." She wanted to give me the first and the last novels in the series at the time, and the bookstore from which she bought them mistakenly told her that "Saw Red" was the first one.
Knowing that Sherry would ask me constantly whether I had read the books and liked them, I began reading "Saw Red" without too much delay. It was love at first page. I carried the paperback in my pocketbook and read it at every available moment. Wanting to read the series in order, I set aside "Came to Breakfast" and began purchasing my own copies. In the process I discovered the three books that had been published before "Saw Red." I read them, re-read "Saw Red," and discussed with Sherry the volumes I had covered. This provided her with information she did not have because, getting her books from a library, she did not always receive them in order and usually read the latest releases before the earlier works. Thus we shared the adventures of Moose County up through "Went Underground."
Then Sherry died. It was quite a while before I could even look at a copy of a "Cat Who" book without crying. The joy I had in the series was half gone, because I could no longer share it with the closest friend I had ever had in my life. Time does have a way of healing, though, and I finally was ready to purchase the next installment: "Talked to Ghosts." I was both startled and comforted to find Qwilleran doing for Iris Cobb the same things that I had so recently done for Sherry. Perhaps this attitude toward a fictional character is not quite rational, but when grief would periodically sweep over me, the thought that "Qwill would understand" was calming and reassuring.
Besides a few pieces of costume jewelry and the armoire that I had given her in which to store them, which her family returned to me after her death, Sherry didn't leave me material gain. She left me something far more lasting. She left me Qwill, and Koko, and Yum Yum. She left me Moose County and Down Below. She left me Maus Haus and the Goodwinters. She left me Hixie Rice, Arch Riker, Mildred Hanstable, Celia Robinson, and a cat who had 14 tales. Whatever direction the series takes in the future, Sherry left me with a world full of friends who have become so real to me that, one Christmas, I thought for a second that a Scottish tartan throw I found in a catalog would be a perfect gift for Qwill before remembering that he exists only on paper. On the morning that Sherry was discovered in bed, departed, at the personal care home where she had spent her last 10 months, I sat with her while her relatives were notified and her children made the necessary arrangements with a funeral home. Beside her bed, as always, was her talking book machine with a tape in it. She always listened to a book to relax her just before going to sleep. I turned on the machine and heard the reader describing Qwilleran's discovery, in the deceased Mountclemens's apartment, of the missing half of an extremely valuable painting. "The Cat Who Could Read Backwards" was the last book Sherry heard on her last night on this earth. Somehow it seemed to bring us close again.
Requiescat in Pace, my friend.
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