We found you where magical ceramic horses grazed and where Charlotte Webb’s ancestors may be nestled. So demure and fragile one wondered who would win, as your life and Mr. Death wrestled. You were but no more than a mass of fur balled up in the palm of my mother’s hand. So tiny, at a first glance, we could not see your angel’s wings or the birth of God’s noble plan. 

You were an intelligent, little sprite of gray that loved your morsels but was a finicky eater. As your attention to detail in the litter box was so sophisticated we sometimes deemed you ‘Miss Priss’ commenting to ourselves what a funny creature. I used to blow a sweet tune and you would come scuttling to me, materializing in my sight, as if by magic, like ‘Nanny McPhee’. 

I used you like a handkerchief, held you like a cabbage patch kid, and hugged you like a pillow over the years. I’m surprised you did not drown in my rainfall of yearning tears. I even made a cot from cardboard for you so when you slept, off my bed, you would not fall. I even contemplated dressing you up in miniature clothes like a kewpie doll. 

If I could hear your thoughts I know what you probably would meow, “Someone please put this crazy woman away she’s as thick as a cow”. But seriously all joking aside, thank you God for bestowing me a tiny piece of heaven. Thank for this angelic creature that brought my sorrow to an end. I will always love her; she is the gold in my life, my best friend. 

Copyright © 2017 Angela Marie Suor






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