A Love Letter to My Cat (yes, you read that correctly)
Hello, my sweet kitty friend. I know that even though we see each other every day (as we have for pretty much the past 10 years), things haven’t been the same lately, now that you’re a “big brother” to baby Connor Claire.
It probably seems like she’s always in my arms, or on my lap, or somehow otherwise up in the mix, and that when you try to snuggle with me (like the time she was breastfeeding and you tried to sneak onto my lap to make biscuits), it seems grossly unfair when I say, “No, Tabs, not now.”
I see you slinking away, sadly. I hear your tiny kitty sighs and meows.
Honestly, I can’t blame you. Things have changed a lot over the past two months, both for you and for me, more than they have in the previous nine years we’ve spent together. It’s been quite a shock to both of our systems.
But I wanted you to know that even though our familiar daily (and nightly) patterns have changed, you’re still my special tabby baby boy, and now I cherish the quiet moments we have together even more, when it’s just you and me again, like last night, when I woke up at 3 and saw you curled up next to me, sleeping soundly.
Or, right now as I’m typing this with you napping in the corner next to my chair, and with me at the keyboard tap-tap-tapping away. How many hours have we spent just like this, my sweet friend? Hundreds? Thousands? I know that soon you’ll wake up, hop up on my desk, and rub your cheeks against my face before draping your body across my left forearm as I continue to type. You’ll start to purr and stare out the window and occasionally blink contendedly.