Small Ode To A Dead Cat

There are days when I miss my cat. I know this is a silly thing, really, especially after all these years of him being gone. He was with me for 17 years.

No, this isn’t the anniversary of his death, or of when I got him. It’s just that right now I’m feeling a little vulnerable and that brings up that longing… whatever.

He used to sleep in my bed and take up a good third to a half. He was between 14 and 16 pounds, but when he slept is was more like 500. In the middle of the night he would move from the foot of the bed, having started out around my feet, and wind up in the middle, sometimes with most of the blanket somehow.

Some cats you never know if they love you. He loved me. That was always abundantly clear. He was a very sweet cat with almost everybody, really, people remarked at how sweet he was. But with me he was downright affectionate.

In the 17 years he was with me (I got him as an adult cat) he swiped at me once. Once. This was because I was putting him in the cat carrier to go to the vet, which always sent him into a panic.

Have a pet? Hug them if you can. Gently. Appreciate the companionship they provide and be grateful for the time you share.