In a few days time it will be six months since Little passed away suddenly and my heart broke. Isn't it supposed to get easier? Aren't I supposed to cry less? Take solace in the four and a half years Little was with me? Be grateful that he did not suffer? Yes, I should. But I can't. Because Little is supposed to be here. With me. He is supposed to be on my desk fighting me for the mouse; opening a bazillion webpages because he keeps pawing at the touch-screen monitor; walking across the keyboard; rubbing his cheek on my face. But he's not. And my heart still hurts.
If there is any solace to be had, any relief to be gained, it is in the furbabies that I have. My beautiful girl, Pretty, who is 14 years old and my crazy baby boy, SlickMonkeyBob, who is 10 months old.
Pretty is chill. Like really chill. She wants your attention when she wants it; otherwise, leave her alone. She has never done a single "wrong" thing in her entire life. Like, nothing. Ever. I adopted Pretty when she was six weeks old and I have been madly in love with her ever since. She was a tiny, round puff of fur when I brought her home. And as you can see in the photo, she's the single most beautifully photogenic cat, ever.
SlickMonkeyBob is adorable and crazy. I adopted Slick after Little passed away because I was so painfully lonely. I wanted a little furbaby to love. To cling to. To ease my aching heart. I scoured adoption websites and found him at the Humane Society. I went to see him although I was steadfast in my decision that I would not adopt him because he looked so much like Little. I didn't think I could handle seeing Little's face every day, knowing it wasn't actually Little. But 20 minutes in found me laying on the floor (ugh!) at the Humane Society playing with him. Watching him hang from the cages and run around like a crazy baby. The name that had been given to him was "Prince Ateles". I'm sorry, what? "Ateles" is genus of spider monkey. Well, that certainly explained it.
From the day I brought Slick home he has been by my side. And I do mean that literally. Wherever I am, he is. He follows me from room to room. Never more than a foot or two away. Always. Right next to me. At night he sleeps in the crook behind my knees or stretched out along my back. He loves his furmomma. He doesn't "meow" but instead talks in the same trilling tune that Little did. The first time he did it I almost fell over. I've had feline furbabies my entire life and not one ever had a tune rather than a meow - until Little. And now Slick. And I mistakenly call him Little at least once a day. And I love him. So much.
In so many ways Slick is channeling Little's spirit. While being his own little kitty self, in small ways he brings my beautiful Little back to me.
And I am grateful.
Peace and purrs,
Little's Mom
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