i met a painful acquaintance again - i lost my cat
About seventeen and a half years ago, my grandfather died. This may not mean much, but my father, grandmother, and grandfather raised me. In order to help me grieve, my grandmother thought it would be nice to get me a cat. He was a tiny thing, flea bitten, full of attitude, and barely eight weeks old. He was the lone survivor of his litter and with dark fur and green eyes.
I had intended to call him Bagheera after the black leopard in the Jungle Book, my favorite movie at the time. My grandmother's friend swore he would end up with gray patches, so we named him Patches.
He ended up all black.
He was full of attitude and demanding; he was a little old man before he was two. And never so little; he spent most of his life over twenty pounds and unconditionally loved. You couldn't cuddle him, but he would sit by your side when you were sick or grieving. He helped me through my grandmother's death, my mom's death, and my aunt's death. He was a horrible, terrible, stuck up cat who demanded your attention because he loved you.
And I adored him.
He died today; he weighted only six pounds, his liver gave out.
I hope that one day everyone has a cat like him.
I had intended to call him Bagheera after the black leopard in the Jungle Book, my favorite movie at the time. My grandmother's friend swore he would end up with gray patches, so we named him Patches.
He ended up all black.
He was full of attitude and demanding; he was a little old man before he was two. And never so little; he spent most of his life over twenty pounds and unconditionally loved. You couldn't cuddle him, but he would sit by your side when you were sick or grieving. He helped me through my grandmother's death, my mom's death, and my aunt's death. He was a horrible, terrible, stuck up cat who demanded your attention because he loved you.
And I adored him.
He died today; he weighted only six pounds, his liver gave out.
I hope that one day everyone has a cat like him.