Dear grandma.
When i met you, you were almost my age. That’s a hundred in cat years. You were the sweetest, quietest thing, if a little mangled from age and wear. It was how old you were that held my fascination initially. Your thin, slightly damp ears, mottled with black. The silly way you sat, with a leg sticking out beneath you, like an old maid with arthritis. The wounds crowding your nose with stories i’d never know, so raw i barely dared to touch you when we first met. The slow, languid way you followed us around.
It was probably your love for trailing behind us that captured me, grandma. The way you fixed round, unblinking eyes on me (or J if he’s around, because you like him more) until i yielded and petted you. You had the sweetest, quietest way of demanding affection. I’d never forget how you followed us up and down the stairs, despite how difficult it must have been, just so you could be near us. It was so easy, grandma, to forget how old you really were.
There was one morning not too long ago, just you and me. I having a drink, you gazing up at me, not a sound. I petted you, your content so uncomplicated, so thorough. You wanted more whenever I stopped. It seemed almost as if you’d never relent in your thirst for love. That was the last time i remember you asking for my attention. I should have stayed with you longer.
By the time you came back from the vet the first time, i knew i’d already lost most of you. You turned away from my hand, when you used to press your rough, tiny face against it. You stared at me, but not expectantly. It was colder, resigned. That day i sprawled on the floor and cried like an idiot. If you had any energy left for interaction, you gave it to J.
Today we were with you when you rested. You were still curious, but lethargic. There were so many things i wanted to tell you: I’m sorry, i love you, thank you for being such a sweet cat. There were so many things about you i want to know: what was the first 20 years of your life like before you met us? do you know how much we love you? are you ready to go?
Most of all i hope you felt safe and loved when you left. I hope there was no pain, only knowledge that we were there with you the whole way, and that you’d get to rest now. I’ll miss you, grandma, i already do.
Q 