Mama misses you so much.

 

I’ve wanted to write this letter to you ever since you died so suddenly and unexpectedly on the fourteenth of August, but it’s been incredibly impossible to come to terms with your abrupt ending. You were torn away from me and I could not save you; I heard you yowling as I was waking up, and I thought you were having a nightmare, and I said your name out loud, because hearing my voice has always calmed you down in the past; it has brought you back from your nightmares, from the bad dreams. But this nightmare was persistent, and my voice was not enough; I looked around to see you on your bed, your body arching as you continued to yowl, and I leapt out of bed to crouch beside you but you were already dead. The vet said later that you had died of a massive heart attack. You must have had that weak heart all your life, and nobody knew.

 
And no amount of tears, pleading with you to ‘please come back baby’, or shaking your body worked. And my bewilderment echoes in my voice.

 

‘But he wasn’t ill.’

 

‘But he was only eight years old.’

 

‘But he’s never been ill a day in his life; he’s never even had an ear infection.’

 

And we ended up burying you later that same day, in the same pet cemetery where Frodo and Lucifer and Sugarplum are all buried. You used to play with Lucifer, who died in 2014; now you both sleep together in the dirt, side by side.
Oh my sweet baby. I spent weeks in a state of shock, questioning your passing, and crying for you. I long to hold you in my arms again, and I always will. I remember how ridiculous you were when you were a kitten; your long-legged gait and your mischievous ways; dots inside your dot. I remember how drawn we were to each other, even though Rekha was the one who rescued you. We just knew, didn’t we? We knew we were each other’s. You were mine and I was yours. Our attachment was so intense and so true that Rekha eventually gave you to me, and we were both so incredibly happy about that.

 

I remember how much you loved boxes; the smaller the better. You were a large cat, and you enjoyed squeezing into the smallest boxes. I remember a particularly small box you waged a battle with, twisting this way and that, until you finally managed to fit, and you enjoyed your triumph for 30 seconds before the box split around you and broke. The surprise on your face when that happened will make me giggle forever.

 

As will your infatuation with the quilt in the living room. That will be a family story for all time. When I finally took it away from you and put it in the laundry room, you managed to find it there. How you got into the locked laundry room to be with that quilt I will never know.

 

You and Grimalkin were never really friends, although you certainly tolerated each other. And sometimes you consented to being next to each other in bed, if it meant being in bed with me. Grimalkin sends you his love. I wish I could tell you that he misses you, but I’m not sure if he does. You know him. He processes things in his own way. Perhaps he does miss you, but I just don’t know it.

 

Everyone else misses you, though. The kittens you adored so much, and whom you were so gentle with, do miss you. Particularly Hine Moa. She went and lay down in your spot for days. Mooncake misses you too, but she’s always been a bit moody, and she’s not as affectionate as Hine Moa. Moody Moony.

 

And I miss you. Missing you goes on and on. My sweet Wellington boy, I will miss you forever, but I know this. My soul will find yours again. We will be together again someday.

 

All my love, always,

 

Mum