When the black furry creature you carried around on your shoulder for his kitten life gets sick and isn't around any more to snuggle, what else is there to do but be a teary mess every time he pops into your head?
You wish that you told him you loved him more (but I think he understood that well enough when he used to claw his way up the back of my legs.)
I used to wish he wouldn't sit purposely on my pile of clean, ironed clothes when he would jump on my bed.
I used to wish he would snuggle for longer, but he was always hungry.
I used to wish he wouldn't dig his claws in when he was purring like a crazy kitty.
I used to wish his fur didn't cover the white lounge suite, coating my clothes in it.
Now I just wish I could have been there to hug him goodbye.
I wish he would come to sit on my bed wherever he pleased.
I don't care that he was always hungry, I would be grateful for the short snuggle I could get before he started wriggling towards his food bowl.
I don't mind if his hair had covered all the furniture in the house and we were to reside in a black furry igloo.
So when it's something you love, there's no point wishing it was even a little bit different. Because it seems like in the end none of that matters. What matters isn't the fur on the couch, or the scratches down my legs, the numerous messes I cleaned up that should have been in the garden, or the shortest snuggles in the world, it's colossal amount of love you have despite this.
I just love you Teddy. I'm not a crazy cat woman, I'm just crazy about you.
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