Crusty comedian George Carlin said that when you acquire a puppy or kitten, you set the stage for personal tragedy in about 14 years. Though we may pause to consider this discomforting thought, it never stopped Carlin, who lovingly featured his dog, Moe, and cat, Murphy, or the rest of us from buying or adopting.

As we reach for unconditional love, we reason the future never will arrive.

But once again, the future arrived suddenly for my beloved cat Ralphie and me on Dec. 27. As if to save me the angst of a hard decision I couldn’t face without fear, my gentle companion passed peacefully in his sleep.

Over a lifetime, our family fell into the habit of animal rescue. By June 2002, all four companions passed from age and infirmity. The last to go was the feisty feline given to my daughter Susanne on her 8th birthday by then Mayor William Donald Schaefer. He named her Kat and she acquired his personality. Kat was without doubt, The Boss.

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We still were reeling when Susanne learned friends had been feeding a stray black cat for months but couldn’t take it in because of allergies.

On June 18 she was pleading her case with me for adoption, when a severe thunderstorm gathered. After one frightening thunderclap, we grabbed a cat carrier, drove to Lorraine’s patio and scooped him up. He aided our gathering by going limp to help us stuff him into the cage. When the carrier door swung open in our living room, Ralphie confidently strolled out and stretched out, knowing he was home.

Dr. Robert Shortall’s exam revealed someone neutered him. But he was many years old, with “special needs” — he suffered from thyroid and upper respiratory problems. The diagnosis did not deter me. My one claim to excellence is an uncanny ability to dispense medication to cats without needing a padded suit or leather gloves.

We fell easily into a routine befitting our age and retired circumstance. At precisely 6 a.m. his internal clock would tell him it was time to sit on my chest and gently tap my cheek to waken me, being careful not to expose his lovely long claws.

We took our meds and read the morning papers at the kitchen table. He lounged on the right page while I read the left, and vice versa.

He enjoyed travel by car. Friends said he was a dog in a cat’s body, waiting patiently at the front door for my return. At bedtime, we’d take the stairs one at a time with our arthritic knees snapping in unison.

Ralphie was a social lion. He positioned himself in the center of any gathering, enjoying the laughter and conversation. He loved his extended family, including Junior, our border collie, who learned from Ralphie to chill out and worry less about herding and playing Frisbee; and Jimmy, our splendid K-9 German shepherd, who never before had licked the nose of a small cat who batted the silver police badge on his collar. He surrounded himself with friends, including neighbors springer spaniel Cody Klein, and poodles Samantha and Midget Knowles and an e-mail buddy, Australian shepherd Dakota Smith of Daytona Beach, Fla.

Ralphie’s ashes arrived in a carved cherry wood box.

His time with us was short. While I tried to make up for his homeless past, he taught me so much more about patience, being at peace and loving unconditionally.

Best Friends Animal Society in Kanab, Utah, tells us, “No act of kindness is ever in vain, and no thought of love is ever lost.”

I believe that our animal companions go on as we do. So, Godspeed Ralphie! We’ll meet again on that journey without distance, perhaps at The Rainbow Bridge.

Stephanie Esworthy was director of Media and Public Relations and the Baltimore City Film Commission for former Mayors William Donald Schaefer and the late Clarence “Du” Burns and served as head of Baltimore City’s Bureau of Music in every city administration since Mayor Theodore R. McKeldin. She may be reached at steph21093@webtv.net.