roadrunnertwice: Protagonist of Buttercup Festival sitting at a campfire. (Vast and solemn spaces (Buttercup Fest.))
[personal profile] roadrunnertwice
Our cat Frankie died this week.

There's a whole lot of strays in the neighborhood, and I kind of stalk and post pictures of them constantly, so local friends who follow my Instagram often ask how "your cats" are doing. I always reflexively say "They're not our cats!"

Except for Frankie. Frankie WAS our cat, the one who wholeheartedly loved us back and who forcibly moved in with us. (We're renters and aren't really supposed to have a cat, but she was impossible to keep out. She'd come in through the skylights, for god's sake. She just decided that we were her humans now, and that was the end of the discussion.)

I miss her so fucking much already. Every 20 minutes or so I'll do something that would have gotten a reaction from her, and I'll look up and she doesn't appear. Mornings have gotten particularly hard, because she'd reliably come wake us (well, me) to demand food (even if she wasn't hungry, the rule was that Humans Must Get Up in the Morning), then go back to sleep on Ruth for a while before it was time to get up for real.

We only knew her for a little less than three years. We treasured her, and I think we were able to give her a pretty good life. I think I have no regrets. I think.

I miss her.
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