Four and a half years ago, on September 22, 2014, my best friend, Amy, and I were sitting in our seats taxiing to the runway on a flight to Chicago when she mentioned that a friend had posted on Facebook about a kitten she'd rescued from a dumpster. I simply said, "tell Trish I'll take the kitten." Amy suggested I sleep on it since I had been a one fur-baby home for so long. The next morning I sat waiting on my bed in our hotel room. Waiting for Amy to wake up. Once she was awake and on her way to being properly caffeinated, I said "tell Trish I'll take the kitten." She just rolled her eyes.
The following weekend, on Sunday, September 28, 2014, my twin sister, Susan, and I drove to Tampa to pick up the fur-baby. He was the dirtiest, smelliest, cutest thing ever. He was so incredibly small; hardly bigger than Susan's cell phone. When I took him to the vet a couple of days later, he weighed 12 ounces. Can you imagine? And he was sick. He had every parasite you could imagine, spent days in the veterinary hospital, had to take all kinds of medicine, and when he finally came home, he pooped and peeped in every corner of our home. About a month later, my fur-baby was home and I was in love.
I had decided to name him "Alastor Moody" because he had a bit of a wonky eye and I am a Harry Potter geek. But he would never be called by that name. He was simply "Little". My Little boy. My Little B. And he was my shadow. Wherever I was, Little was. If I was in the kitchen, he was on the counter; in the bathroom, he was on the counter; doing homework, he was on the desk; on the couch, he was on his blanket on the pillow behind me; and when I was in bed, he was either laying in my lap or wrapped around my head, hogging the pillow. He talked all the time. A wonderful trilling tune. He met me at the door every single day.
It's been two weeks, today, since Little passed away. And his absence is heartbreaking. I miss my Little. I miss my fur-baby best friend. It was sudden and shocking and over in a matter of seconds and there was nothing I could do to save him. I would give so much to bring him back to me.
I have found some solace in the photos I have of Little. I took a lot of pictures of Little. I mean A LOT. I put them all together and there are more than 600. But the iPhone "live" photo feature has become a gift I could not have imagined. As I was going through all of the photos, as I had done so many times in the last week weeks, I actually "watched" the "live" photos and I discovered one taken in January 2018 in which Little reaches out for the camera and brings his beautiful face in close. I can hear him purring. I watch this photo a dozen or more times a day. It brings Little to life again for me. Because I am not ready to let him go.
In these last days, with my broken heart, I have scoured the internet trying to find solace, help, guidance, sympathy. It doesn't exist in any tangible, beautiful way. So I have created this space because I need to grieve out loud for Little. I want to tell the world what Little meant to me and how much his death has hurt me. Because I know there are others out there that feel the same way; that want to grieve out loud for the loss of their furbabies. I know it.
I started this blog so I could do just that - grieve out loud. So I could put "out there" what I feel "in here." What I feel in my heart. I don't know where this blog will take me. I'll find out when I get there.
If you're reading this, I hope it helps you as it helps me.
Paula
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