HarryCauley—author Bridie and Finn and the memoir, Speaking of Cats,recipient of the Writers Guild of America Award and the W.H. Smith Fresh Talentaward in England, staff writer on Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman and several CarolBurnett specials—died yesterday. He was 93.

Inrecent years, as I have mentioned Harry to friends, I’ve been asked how I cameto know him. I get it. The question suggests no disrespect to me, I know, but…How did I, from the very small reclusive sanctuary I have created for myself,brush shoulders with someone who lived and worked and partied in Hollywood?Well, I’ll tell you.

Acouple decades and change ago, a handful of other writers and I used to meetbi-monthly at the Barnes & Noble in Rancho Cucamonga. Sometimes the PRperson for the store would tell us, “I have a guest speaker for you,” and wewould be introduced to someone who was there to promote a book. I will neverforget the night we met Harry. He was there to talk about Bridie and Finn,the rich, heartfelt novel he wrote—his first, written when he was sixty-fiveand had retired from writing teleplays.

WhatHarry said that night continues to resonate with me. I still have it in anotebook: “Writing is the loneliest profession there is.” He went on toelaborate on how difficult it is to sit alone in a quiet place—how intimidatingit is to face the blank computer screen, the blinking cursor—and begin tocompose a work of fiction entirely from scratch. Boy howdy.

Harryhad no idea who I was that night, of course, and we didn’t really speak, otherthan my sincere thank you as he was leaving. But fast forward a decade, and ourdear mutual friend, Peggy Jackson—PR person for Borders Books at the time—was havinglunch with me and another friend in Claremont, California.

“Kay, I loved your memoir about your dogs,” Peggy said. “You remember Harry Cauley? He’s written a memoir,Speaking of Cats. You would love it.”

Idid read and love Speaking of Cats. So I reviewed it on Amazon. AndPeggy emailed Harry to tell him. And Harry emailed me to thank me for thereview. (What a classy guy!) And so it began, Harry and I exchanging emailsabout books and writing and our love of cats and dogs and gardening.

Harrylived in Cherry Valley, which is where I had planned to retire. When the timecame, I ended up in Calimesa, but I was 15 minutes away from his house, and ouremails became phone calls and visits. By then, his health was beginning todecline, and, although he was still driving himself around town, heoccasionally needed help getting to appointments that were a freeway journeyaway. When I drove him, he bought me lunch. Oh, the laughter over thoselunches! This man had 80 years’ worth of stories! About mowing Albert Einstein’slawn (because Harry was born in Princeton, New Jersey, and “the Einsteins”lived down the street). About his stint in the army (“I tap danced my waythrough the Korean War”—and he meant that literally). About his plays beingperformed on Broadway. About the produce he would bring to rehearsals becausehe had a vegetable garden and he loved sharing with his friends. Aboutcelebrities—the truly nice ones (Carol Burnett), the “bitches” and the “s.o.b.s.”

Harrygave me unsolicited advice nearly once a week—how to train my dog (because henever understood why Thomas wasn’t friendly), how to grow vegetables (as if Ihadn’t been doing that for decades), why I should stop looking for love from aman (sigh), how to make soup (as I was making a pot of soup). And I listened,whether I needed the advice or not. Because you don’t get as old as Harrywithout becoming a deep repository of wisdom and truth.

Thepandemic separated us. I didn’t see him for many months, though I left homemadebread and cookies at his doorstep as often as I could. Fortunately, just monthsbefore the lockdown, I drove Harry up to Living Free Animal Sanctuary inIdyllwild where he adopted a beautiful black cat named Asher. Asher was hisonly companion during all the months he was shut in, and we both often remarkedon the phone that Harry had selected “the perfect cat” from the dozens hevisited with that day.

Asherand Harry were separated when Harry went into assisted living a couple yearsago. Please don’t be sad for him; the “perfect cat” continues to be the perfectcompanion for another human who needed him as much as Harry did.

Andnow Harry has left his physical shell and gone on to rejoin all the dearfriends and family members he has lost in nine decades. He lived anextraordinary life, and he accomplished extraordinary things. Bravo, Harry.Bravo.