Beloved cat, when my dad saw you and your sister, George, in the middle of the road, he stopped to pick you up and bring you home with us. We had a nice empty barn until you were accepted by our dog Freckles and our garage cats Jimmy and Splat. You were small and loving. When your sister hid and cried, you would run to her, but you were the first of the two to realize you were in good hands.
Over the winter you became sick for the first time. We brought you in and nursed you back to health. It would be the first of many respiratory illnesses for you, and the vet thought you would not survive the first because you were a runt. We got you through that illness, and at least three more.
But you were always a small cat. While your sister grew leaps and bounds, always crooked with her twice broken hip, you stayed tiny. But you were the mighty huntress. You taught yourself to eat earthworms by watching the dog, Freckles, who you slept with until he passed of a heart condition. You graduated to spiders, bees, flies, cicadas, then taught yourself to hunt mice and birds. For that, you were special, runt that should have never lived a year.
You even became Paulie's friend. He would dook and try to wrestle with you and you would gently cat dance over his head. You were always bemused by each other, and thought each was the strangest cat-ferret they'd ever seen. He never forgets a friend, and he's missed you since I moved.
The last time you became sick my parents brought you inside the house, little did they know to stay. Shoebed was old and hiding sickness. When he knew you would love and care for my mother, he passed on with the help of our vet.
You were stalwart in the face of sadness, for Shoebed was a friend you came to visit long before you became a permanent resident of the indoors. You longed for the outside, but realized we kept you in because we loved you. You kept my dad's lap warm and my mom good company while she healed.
But then we knew something was wrong--why it was you did not grow. You started vomiting once a month--not like a cat with a hairball. The vets didn't know what was wrong, and the best my mom could do was try different foods with you until you stopped getting sick.
But you never could gain weight. But did you ever love and be loved. My parents took you to the trailer on the river this weekend, a favorite place. You were weak, but managed to jump in your favorite window and watch the lazy river roll past. Then your hind legs became weak, and they knew you wouldn't make it much longer. My parents brought you home and you died quietly with your heart key. We all gave you a piece.
Soft swift cat feet run now to the bridge. You are plump and healthy, swift and svelt. You feel the soft breeze and a warm sun. A shadow passes overhead. It is a butterfly, and kitten like you leap to catch it. You are not alone. Freckles is there, Shoebed is there. Both have been waiting for you. You cavort in the sun together, waiting for the time when your sister, Georgie, and your human family will join you, but you wait among friends.
Purr in piece my lovely. We will take care of your George, as you know how special she is to me. As you are. Kitty kisses, my kitty kitt-ahn, my Timmy Toodle, my Biddle-bot. Take care of that piece of our hearts you took for your key.
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