My little baby kitten died.

She wasn’t a kitten, she was a full grown cat with less than two years of life in her. She was black, but in the sun her fur would shine a beautiful rust color. She loved to play. She loved to be mysterious. She’s a black cat, I mean what can you expect?


She was a beautiful creature and gift to planet Earth. She taught her brother, a marmalade cat everything he knows, and got him through hard times. They played together, ate together, and slept together in a little orange and black yin yang.

Her story began when she was rescued from a barn. Her mother, a feral cat could not take care of her, she was brought home in a box curled up inside the straw with her little brother by her side, both of whom were very fluffy. She had eyes of a deep sapphire blue, and was very fluffy. 014.JPG

She was always very curious. She would try to stand up and watch the laptop while a movie was playing, but she would wobble and fall over. She picked strange places to sleep, like a box with clothes in it. She
loved to curl up in fetal position. She loved to be outside.

And then one day, she disappeared. She was just gone. Her brother walked around, all sullen, and his little flame and spark gone. We thought that he must know, somehow. Yesterday a neighbor told my mom that he had seen the cat, and that she had been run over by a car. Her curiosity had brought her out onto the highway. She was a smart cat, but no match for the cars whizzing by.

No matter what she will always be thought of as a little baby kitten, running around and playing. Coming and scaring me at night. 

Goodbye my little kitten.

May you rest in peace.



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