Rosie Posie Cottontail

Dear Rosie,

Christmas won't be quite whole without you. Though gone are the days of you drinking all the "spice water" out of the tree and enthusiastically chasing a laser pointer around the living room, you remain very much at the center of our Christmas celebrations. Whether perched in front of the tree or meowing pitifully until we get your pillow set out in front of the fireplace, you have always been our Christmas cat.

Of course, you didn't start out that way--as a Christmas cat, I mean. You started out as a tiny fluffball of a runt, the littlest one in the litter by far, the one who insisted on kneading me firmly in the armpit before attempting repeatedly to suckle on my arm. Perhaps taken from your mama a bit before you were ready, you seemed to imprint on me from the first night in our home with Guillie, and that has never changed. Not a night in the last 17.5 years has gone by in our home that hasn't found you tucked cozily in the crook of my arm, body under the covers and head sharing my pillow.

You've had to adjust quite a bit in the year and a half since your sister went up to heaven, and I'm so sorry for that. It's clear how much you miss her (not to mention how much you wish she was still here to deflect Lily's energetic adoration of you). You've learned to make do, to snuggle with Ozzy when necessary and to endure Lily's affection, but it hasn't been easy.

We joke that you are our cranky old lady, the one who tells us when she should be fed, who yowls until we form a lap, who constantly demands our attention and affection. But, Rosie Posie Cottontail, the truth is that your fur has soaked in more of my tears, your ears have endured more of my rants, and your comforting warmth has soothed more of my heartache than anyone could possibly imagine. If animals can be children--and I believe they can--then you are the child who first prepared me to be a parent. And for that I owe you the world.

Lily asked if she could take this picture of you and me tonight. I'm covered in a blanket because Lily thought it might bring me extra comfort, and there's a crackling fire warming you just outside the camera's frame. Tonight has been a teary one, sweet kitten, and I expect the next 48 hours won't be much better. Because now is the moment when I have to not be selfish, when I have to confront the pain I know you're in and allow you to leave, allow you to go greet Guillie (who will be waiting right next to God, Lily reminds me) and to be joy-filled again. I just wish it didn't hurt so much to take away your pain.

We will all miss you, sweet kitten-cat. Know that our hearts will never change.

With love,

Your person mama