Dear Scout,
Remember the day we met? It was the last day of school, and you were rescued by a custodian who heard you meowing inside a locker. Some kid had a cat that had kittens, and the mom didn’t want more than one kitten at the house. The kid decided you had to leave, so she brought you to school in her backpack and stashed you in her locker, hoping she could talk one of her friends into taking you home. But fate intervened. The custodian took you to the office, and the principal wanted to send you to the pound, but a friend of mine knew what would happen if you went there. She said she would take you, but would I please keep you for the afternoon so she could get things ready at home for you. I agreed to help her out. Silly me.
You wouldn’t stay in the box, so I had to hold you as I drove home. I held you tight against my chest, and you purred and licked my chin. I followed you around my apartment as you investigated every corner, nook, and shadow. You followed me around as I got you some milk and fixed up your litter box.
An hour after I brought you home, I called my friend and told her that I wanted to keep you. She laughed and said that was her plan all along.
You were so small I could hold you in the palm of my hand. When I took you for your first visit to the vet, he said you were about a month old…kind of young to be away from your mother, but you would be ok. You charmed the receptionist at the vet by sauntering around on the counter. We were back there a few hours later because your first rabies shot got you sick, but one shot of benadryl and you were back on your feet. You were a fighter from the beginning.
I made a box for you to sleep in, but you cried, so I let you sleep with me for one night. One night turned into forever. On cold nights, you would curl up against me in the crook of my arm. You fell off the bed one night when you tried to follow me to the bathroom, so I used some boxes to make stairs for you to use to get on and off the bed. You were spoiled already.
You made me feel like a kid again. You reminded me how much fun playing chase and hide and seek could be. Your carrier was “home base,” and our rules said that I couldn't tag you or touch you or fuss at you when you were there. I had forgotten how wonderful it was to play in a box. I’d bring home every box I could find and make castles and forts for you to explore and hide out in. An ice cube on the kitchen floor would keep you entertained until it melted into a tiny puddle.
As you got bigger, you became a jumper. You’d jump halfway up the wall just to catch a mosquito hawk. You’d jump up on the counter to see what I was doing in the kitchen. Once you even jumped up on my head and bit me because you were mad at me, but you ran into your carrier when I started to fuss at you.
Someone suggested that I get you a cat tree to play on, but I couldn't afford it. I got you a harness instead. You really hated that thing the first few times I put it on you. When you finally got used to it, I took you, on the harness and leash, to the big pet store down the road and let you climb around on all their cat trees. You loved it.
On Saturday afternoons, we’d sit on the sofa and eat nacho cheese Doritos. On Sundays, I’d spread the ad inserts over the floor and you would run and slide across them over and over again. Once, I went away for the weekend, and you were so mad that you chewed up my tube of toothpaste and shredded a whole roll of toilet paper. I grumbled and fussed at you, but secretly, I was overwhelmed that you loved me that much and that you missed me that much.
I started giving you baths because someone told me that if you give a cats regular baths when they are kittens, they will learn to accept them. Boy, were they wrong! After the last bath I gave you, you sat on my suede jacket until you dried off. I laughed and let you. I figured I deserved it and promised to never give you another bath.
Many mornings I would find half a roach on the floor in front of the toilet. I was always very proud of you for killing bugs and honored that you would share half for me. I hope it’s ok that I never ate my half the bug. But I knew what it meant: that we took care of each other because we were a family.
Then one day our family got bigger. Another mom and two more kitties. A new house. You were sad when the other kitties didn’t want to play with you and you hid under my bed. Winnie and Piglet were older and didn’t have as much energy as you, so I played with you instead. I know it wasn’t the same, but I hated to see you unhappy.
Once I got sick and had a hundred degree fever for the whole weekend. You laid on the bed with me and held my pinky finger in your paw. You didn’t leave my side until I got up to go to the doctor on Monday morning.
And who could forget when the dogs came. You didn’t like the dogs, but learned to tolerate them, and they were a little afraid of you. I think you liked it that way. And eventually the other kitties came around and would even play with you sometimes. We even got a picture of all three of you sleeping on the bed together.
And then all of a sudden Piglet was gone, and a few months later, Winnie was gone, too. When I put away their food dishes, you refused to eat, so I put them back out. We got another kitty, but you didn’t like him. We reminded you how you felt when you were the new kitty, and eventually you came around.
And for a little while, things were good.
Then one day you stopped eating. After several trips to the vet and a brief hospital stay, we learned you had cancer. I cried for two days.
But you fought it.
The doctor was amazed. Most kitties don’t make it two years. You made it almost four.
In the end, it wasn’t the cancer that got you, and you should be proud of that.
It's hard for me to accept, but it’s time to let you go. I knew you wouldn’t make it easy, purring every time one of us comes near you. Maybe you're just trying to let us know that you will be ok, that it's the right decision.
No more pills.
No more gasping for breath.
No more nausea.
No more finding out that food that tasted good yesterday tastes horrible today.
I’m sitting here writing this letter to you, and my head hurts from crying. I’m feeling very selfish, because I don’t want to let you go, but we love you too much to make you go through this any more.
We will miss you every day.
Until we meet again….
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