Any of us would be lucky to choose those with whom to spend our last days. We might be luckier if the right ones chose us.

Toward the end of my Dad's life he suffered from Alzheimer's disease. But that never interfered with his great fondness for cats — and the cats, with their curious wisdom, knew he was their great friend and protector. For years, strays of all stripes, found their way to him — and after that, they were set for life.

There was Varmint, a gray tabby he almost ran over; and Spook, the massive black tomcat that ran in the front door one Halloween. And Princess, a petite calico, and Charles, a big white male; and there was Reddy.

I don't remember how Reddy found my Dad. I do remember him as a big orange flash that zoomed past me to hide under the bed, sometimes running into things. Reddy was very frightened of people, except for Dad, to the point that the rest of us rarely saw him.

He was huge, but gentle — his skittish nature likely due to a traumatic early life on the street — which likely was the origin of his most notable physical feature.

Reddy had one eye that was solid red. It looked like it was filled with blood from an old injury. As a result, he appeared to be at least partially blind. He sometimes had trouble getting around, although once in Dad's lap or on his bed, he was living as large as his big front paws.

Reddy and Dad were the greatest of friends. Dad would speak to him gently and softly scratch his broad forehead, his tenderness toward the poor old tomcat a poignant reflection of the man. Their relationship made it more difficult when Dad had to move to an Alzheimer's facility. The two pals had to be separated.

Through the haze of his dementia, Dad must have missed his old buddy, though he would have had trouble telling anyone. One Christmas we gave him a large, orange, stuffed cat. It was as close to Reddy as we could get. He seemed to like it.

I thought about Dad and Reddy for a couple of reasons this week. In today's paper, we tell the story of the Millers of Grimesland who also have a place in their hearts for cats like Reddy. They currently have 17 blind or similarly handicapped cats. They have established a nonprofit organization called The Magoo Room to help these animals.

The other reason is that my brother called last week to tell me that they had to put Reddy to sleep. His family had taken the old cat to live with them in Charlotte when my father moved. My brother told me they had him cremated and spread his ashes over Dad's grave.

The two old travelers were together again at the last.

I'm not sure who chose whom, but Reddy and Dad were lucky to have found each other, especially with the struggles they endured. But I like to recall their mutual affection, not their afflictions; and I'm sure that in my Dad's tangled last memories, old Reddy was there, still living large.

Scott Batchelor's story about The Magoo Room and other unusual non-profit organizations appears on Page A1 today.

Al Clark is executive editor of The Daily Reflector. Tell him what you think at 252-329-9560 or at aclark@coxnc.com.