I shared several breakfasts with you at Midwest FurFest this year. chatting about various convention things. We bitched and griped and laughed, a couple of old, snarky bastards who knew where the other was coming from.

You busted your ass in some of the most thankless jobs a convention has. I’d say you didn’t do it with any complaint, but you complained with the best of them, and you had every reason to. The convention improved because of that, too. I just found the first email I ever got from you, asking if it was too late to register for the first Midwest FurFest in 2000. Even then you were generous, willing to pay more to this new event if that was what it took for you to attend.

You had boyfriends who cared for you very much, through good times and bad. That speaks unbelievably well of you.

In the blink of an eye, you’re gone. One small wrong decision. The idea terrifies me, knowing the same could happen to anyone else I hold dear.

Goodbye, Scott. You were a good man, a good friend, and a damn good skunk. Your passing leaves a hole in my heart.

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