8 years.
Such a long time.
So many days spent lazing in the sun.
So many nights spent curled next to my feet.
You are good at making me laugh.
Silly kitty.
I remember fighting with Daddy when I wanted to bring you into our home.
But you were damaged, and scared of the bad people that had hurt you.
And then he was the one that brought you in.
And I loved you.
And he loved you.
You were my baby long before I had babies.
You were my only friend in a strange town.
You were my only friend in a strange town.
My logical brain knows that it's stupid.
You are a cat.
A cat that didn't like visitors.
Or change.
Or disruptions to your life.
Or my kids.
But you loved me.
And you loved your daddy.
And eventually you forgave me for having kids.
Eventually.
Sort of.
And then you loved them too.
Eventually.
Sort of.
I heard you jump off the bed last night.
And then I cried for an hour when I realized you weren't there.
That you're gone forever.
I have a crushing emptiness inside that won't go away.
Because you were a cat.
How can it be possible that I love you this much?
But I do.
And I miss you.
Goodbye my friend.