My Furball.


Well, I cannot bear to go through the explanation Missy did in her own account of our cat, Mickey. Please feel free to head over there to read it.

This hit me hard. Mickey was the first pet we had as a couple, as an “on our own” couple in our first apartment. I had been very stand offish about getting a new pet. I had a dog and some cats when I was younger and didn’t feel ready for it. But school was done for me. We were settling in. Why not. Mickey was brought home after one of Missy’s trips home to New York. The kid had an attitude, that’s for sure. I forgot about him pissing in my “memento box” all those years ago. But I will always remember him running with a jingle ball up and down the hall way in our first apartment, on the hardwood floors. Back and forth all night. He would climb up on us in bed until one of use would cradle him like a baby and go to sleep in our arms with us.

Mickey ruled the household. I tend to believe he kept the younger cat, Daisy, and our latest addition, our dog Bijou, in line around the house. He’d hop up on the couch, the dog would hop down.

That was a hard 24 hours for me Thursday and Friday. Maybe I was just more prone to it because all of the loss recently. Maybe I didn’t realize how much this cat was a part of my life. He’d always come over when I was working on the laptop, as if to say to take a break. Or if we were having a bad day, he was there.

And now he’s not.

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