Celia, when we picked you and your sister up from the shelter 13 years ago, we could not have imagined how much joy you would bring to our lives. We saw you grow up from a playful, rambunctious kitten, to a shoulder-climbing teenager, to the lovebug you turned into as an adult. Anyone who said cats were independent, aloof, or cold certainly never met you, our constant companion.
It took you years for any sound to come out when you meowed, but once you found your voice — you sure did use it — almost always to demand love, a love that you returned with your complete and unconditional affection. How guilty you made us feel with the longing looks whenever we had to leave you. How many times we went to another room to hear the tip-taps of your feet follow us. The only thing that could voluntarily pry you off our laps was the sight of birds out the window. You never did quite realize that some of them were a bit too big for you to take on. But once they flew away, you would promptly return.
We knew one day you would leave us and our incredible joy to have you in our lives would be met with intense grief. We were not prepared for it to be so soon. When September started, you still seemed your happy bubbly self. We hope you weren’t already in pain. Two weeks later, we noticed your breath was bad and your mouth wasn’t completely closing. The next day we saw blood. When we went to the ER, we thought you had an abscessed tooth that would be fixed right up. But your cruel cancer meant we only had two weeks left with you. Even when you were in pain, even when you were struggling to eat and drink, and even when the meds knocked you out – you stayed your affectionate self. On the eve of your passing, you greeted us home at the top of the stairs with a stretch and a meow, and cuddled, purred, and kneaded all night long.
Your leaving us has left a hole in our hearts that will never be filled. We still wait for you to meet us at the top of the stairs when we get home. To yell at us until we pull up a chair for you at dinner. To jump into one of our laps while we have morning coffee. To tap us with your paw at our desks until we finally let you sit on us as we work. And to plop into in our arms on the couch for belly rubs. Your sister smells the hoodies we last held you in and cries — she is lost without you.
We would give everything to have you back. We don’t know if there is a heaven, but if there is, you must be there — there can be no heaven for us without you in it. We have often said you would cuddle with us forever if you had your way, and maybe one day you will.
We love you bubu.
(Many thanks to Dr. Simko for her compassion and care.)
