SAMSON, I Hardly Knew You








Dear Sherry,

Samson.  The name  fit perfectly and immediately transported me to my childhood Sunday School class of "Samson and Goliath.."

"My goodness, he's big, enormous even," came out of my mouth before proper etiquette quelled it.

"He's huge.  Is he friendly?"

I had no intention of getting close enough to pet him since I've never been a cat person.  You assured me of Samson's gentleness and soothed my reluctance with the pronouncement that he operated on a "Live and let live" basis.  Thank goodness for that.  However, for some reason,  I inched a step closer and started talking to him, the speechifier that I am.  Samson slowly, deliberately turned toward my voice and stared.

"May I  pet him?"

You nodded.

Still prattling, I gently rubbed his luxurious fur.  Unmoved, Samson waited on me to wind down and leave him alone.

"He likes you," you nodded.

Oh?"

"If he didn't, Samson simply would've walked away."

"Oh!"

I rarely saw Samson over the next few years, although I always inquired about him, how he was doing and if he'd lost weight.

"Samson's fine."

When our mutual friend told me of Samson's transition, I entered a new period of grieving. Of course, my feelings pale in comparison to your ineffable loss.  To the extent I can, I mourn with you.

Gentle Samson, I hardly knew you...


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