It's the Holidays, and this time of year always gets me thinking about family.
My cats are family. They aren't just animals who live in my home. They are my friends, and I care for them deeply. I will admit, I don't have children. I cannot imagine what that love feels like, but if it's anything close to how I feel for my goobers, I will be blown away.
We recently lost a member of our crew, and we are very much in the midst of mourning. Biggie came into our lives some five years ago, a wild cat, first appearing at the end of our porch. Yellow glowing eyes sizing up the place. It took another year and a lot of trust for her to accept us into her life. One cold night, I was out shoveling a path in the snow for other cats (and I admit it was also for our resident raccoons). Biggie appeared from out of nowhere, watching me. And from that moment on, our friendship grew. The simple act of shoveling a path seemed to endear me to her. Now, it wasn't all peaches and cream overnight. It took another six months for me to be able to pet her. And another six months to be able to pick her up. She kept a bit of her wildness until the end. I have the scars to prove it. It's on stormy wet winter nights like this one that I know I will miss her the most. A part of me will always think of checking on Biggie, out on our porch in her hut made of old blankets... I miss her so much.