Attached

In the past six months or so, Smidgen has been on me like a freckle, and I have connected to her so much more than before. If I'm sitting down, she's right there. I hug her and she does nothing but purr louder. I pet her rabbit fur and she just vibrates with pleasure. When I'm lying down, she's on my chest, oftentimes with her face against my cheek, purring. If she's not on me one way or another, she walks the floor yowling. That drives me crazy, so I encourage her to be with me. Janice says I'm too attached to her, that I'm going to be destroyed when she dies. She is eight years old and healthy as a horse, so I expect she will be with me for at least another ten years. Since the coyote attack, she stays in the house, going out sometimes to use the bathroom if she doesn't want to use the litter pan. She goes under the porch to do her business, then comes right back in.

I love this cat dearly. I've haven't been this attached to an animal since Henry, my beagle boy. She has been the greatest comfort to me since Aunt Tudi's passing. It's as if she knows I'm damaged and she's doing everything she can to heal me. I realise it's slow going, but she does make things better on a daily basis. Smidgen is my rock when nothing else can reach my spirit.

She's with me right now, with on paw on my arm and one on the edge of the computer. It's a wonder she's not working her way onto my lap, between me and the computer screen. My constant companion, my dearest friend. I don't know what I would do without her.