During our life's journey we are all privileged to meet people
and animals that make a difference in our lives.
Ollie was one of those special beings and one hell of a cat.

He came to me so thin, that his bones stood out, so dehydrated that his skin stood straight up and with a golf-ball sized abscess on his paw. Yet his first act was to stand up on his back paws, like a kid wanting to be picked up. When I picked him up, he just kept rubbing my chin like I was the finest human being ever.

People that didn't like cats said "Oh, but Ollie is different - I really like him."

Ollie lived to be about 18+ years old (I'm guessing his age to be about two when he adopted me) and he was my joy. He purred when I said his name. I will always love him, for he was one fine cat.

After Ollie died, I was driving to work early one morning and in the middle of the street was a small black kitten. I stopped traffic and got her out of the road and into my car. She couldn't have been more than 6 weeks old. I named her Lola.
I believe Ollie, smiling down from above, arranged to put Lola in my path.