Mako on his last day in May. As we all gathered to comfort him, he reached out and placed his paw on Carolyn’s hand.

Dear Ornament Reader,

No matter how we try to be professional and concentrate only on work, there is no real way to shut out the world at large. Matters personal, political—those far outside the realm of ornament or personal adornment; these all impinge on our emotions and intellect. Sometimes it is about things that have become so much part of our routine, that we no longer think about, but just react to. The absence of such daily rhythms can be acutely felt. Such was the case with our office cat Mako. Found to be living in the storm drain adjacent to our office and befriended by our son Patrick in 1992, Mako became so much a part of our life, living in the office except for a few years when one of the staff’s allergic eactions retired Mako to our home. Mako made the rounds of the office, visiting everyone, but having his favorite spots, especially for sleeping, sunning or begging for handouts. In his later senior years, he camped on his bed for much of the day in the designer’s studio, warmed by his own lamp. The first person to arrive at the office opened the door to the warehouse, where he slept; otherwise the motion detectors would

Mako’s grave at our home, before the planting of Korean grass. He rests by our black bamboo grove and a group of rose bushes.

have set off the alarm system during his nocturnal wanderings. Similarly, the last person to leave would put him to bed. During virtually every weekend for twelve years, one of us, (usually Robert), came to feed, water and clean his litter boxes. As some of us worked weekends and nights, Mako would be a comforting companion. When we napped, he would usually curl alongside. With our small staff, Mako was everyone’s friend, but he was especially attached to a succession of our designers, lastly dearly favoring Stephanie Schreiber. Since he was already an adult when we adopted him from his feral existence, Mako was quite elderly by this year. In May, he changed radically; the veterinarian told us Mako’s organs were failing and death near. Notified of this, Patrick called from Oberlin College and asked that Mako be buried by our black bamboo grove, a favorite place of Patrick’s. Seeing his greatly weakened state, we took him home with us for the night. He slept in our bedroom, but one morning we found Mako sleeping on the rag rug in Patrick’s bedroom, an acute remembrance of long-ago times.