I hope that you know, you’ve always been the best cat you could ever be. I’m beyond lucky that I got to meet you and love you, even if for a bit. I know there’s a vacuum between us, you’re a little white cat, and I’m a desperate girl, on my knees, but some things don’t need to be said, they just are.
I’m hurting from things you can’t see, can’t understand, but you lick the tears from my face anyway. You always had so much love to give. I went to the shelter every single day for two weeks before I found you. I remember it like time pouring through clear resin. It was summer. It was an afternoon doused in golden sunlight and the trees full of green. I walked into the room and we made eye contact and I knew right there – that’s her – that’s my soulmate. Whoever said animals don’t have souls has never experienced the love of a little pet that thinks you’re everything in the world. You were on this cat tree, right at my eye-level. I picked you up and you put your face in my neck like you’d known me your whole life: take me, take me away from here, save me. It’s funny, we saved each other.
I took you home to my first apartment. There was no furniture, nowhere for you to hide, so you squeezed yourself into the crevice between the oven and the fridge. We were both just learning how to survive. You saw things, you didn’t know what was wrong with me, why I locked myself in the bathroom for hours, why I screamed at the darkness, but you slept in the bed with me, a soft lump of fur in the crook of my arm. You stood on the edge of the bathtub, watching my limp body floating in the bubbles, your glowing green eyes dark with concern. You licked my thighs and wondered why you tasted blood. You brought me your little stuffed toys, depositing them in my lap. You always knew when I was crying. I suspect you may have been a mama cat in the past.
You’ve been with me through the deepest pits of hell and back. You’ve been outside the bathroom door, listening to the pills clattering on the floor and wondering why I wouldn’t let you in, why I was letting myself burn into the earth. The paramedics frightened you. The red and blue, noises bleeding sharp in your sensitive ears. Boots too hard on carpeted floors. The empty bed. Empty for days, then weeks. The little dent on the sofa where we lay together. You’ve put your face against my slack one, you’ve sat on the sink while I’ve thrown up. You like sitting at porch door and watching the bunnies play in the bushes, but when I leave home you move to my bedroom window that overlooks the parking lot, just waiting for me to come, for my figure to emerge from the car door. You yell at me through glass, through the holes of your carrier, through
I could live a thousand lifetimes and still never deserve you.
We’ll find one another in that big Somewhere out there.
Schizoposting 
