Fourteen years ago my husband and I found a little deaf kitten under a dumpster in Norfolk, Virginia. We were moving out of the Navy Lodge and into our new apartment and fate decided we needed a new kitty to go with that new apartment. Thus began our relationship with Patrick. He brought us countless hours of fun and laughter, he would sit with his wet nose pressed to the glass of the t.v. screen when it was turned off and watch the reflections of everything happing in the room behind him. He moved with us from a one bedroom apartment in Norfolk, to a 2 bedroom house in Maryland, to living with my husband’s family in Louisiana, to living with my mother in Louisiana, to buying our first house, to the house we have now in Mississippi. He was there when we brought all three of our children home from the hospital. He was a terrible mouse catcher. He had a squeaky little deaf cat meow. He was pretty slow on the uptake most days, but he was always my special kitty.
He liked to sleep in the kitty carrier in my bathroom, and that’s where he was this morning. I got up like I do every morning and went into the bathroom, but when I looked down his position was just a little bit wrong. I reached down to pet him and he didn’t wake up. He hadn’t been gone long, and there hadn’t been any noise so I’m pretty sure he was peaceful there at the end.
I decided not to tell the kids yet. I held it in until they got on the school bus and will tell them this afternoon when they get home. No need to start their day off like that.
Goodbye Patrick. I miss you, already.
Until next time,
