One year ago today I lost my sweet little persian cat Beau. We lived together for fifteen years, starting from his kittenhood.
Beau was very important to my sense of well-being; I enjoyed spending time with him and giving him everything he wanted, and he was an absolute joy every day. When I lost him it was like having my heart torn out. But on the one year anniversary of his death, instead of lamenting his loss I’m finding it easier to remember all the wonderful things he gave me. I have so many memories of how he brightened my day: his little chirps, his favorite sleeping places, the time my roommate accidentally dropped a piece of spaghetti on him and he ran through the house like lightning.
Beau had so many vocalizations, it was almost like he could talk. He had his “hi!” sound when I got home, the insistent “meow!” when he wanted me to wake up, his weird gremlin sounds when he chased me around the house at night, his irritated “no!” when my roommate picked him up.
I tried to keep his senses challenged, I was always bringing new things into the house, or letting him smell different spices or foods, or hiding his food in different places, or bringing in new toys. Cats really need stimulation, so I tried to give him new things all the time.
I delighted in bringing home boxes for him to play in, or clearing out cupboards so he could go inside to see what it was like. He loved to snoop in the refrigerator. He also had an elaborate daily credenza inspection ritual, I won’t go into details! I often made “tents” for him by putting a bedsheet over a chair, and he would zip inside and charge out at our feet when we walked past. He was so fluffy and snuggly, I just loved to pick him up and carry him around the house, and show him what things looked like from “people height”. Sometimes I carried him out to the balcony and pointed out cars and people and birds. But my favorite memory is snuggle time, which was twice a day: in the morning while I was on the computer, and again in the afternoon after I got home and everything was settled down, he would sit on my lap or jump on the dining room table to be massaged and petted while I sang to him.
I thought that I would be very sad and depressed on this day, but I realize more and more that he lived his life, and I tried to give him the best life he could have. I have his ashes here, but they are not him, his spirit is somewhere in kitty heaven. I would hope that he remembers me as fondly as I do him, and I hope that he was happy when he was with me.