The first time I saw the movie Poltergeist, I was eleven years old. We still lived in the house I grew up in. My mother was on her second marriage and still had a really good job at an insurance company. We went to church every Sunday with her father-in-law, that is her husband's dad. It was winter time, just before Christmas. Or maybe it was closer to Halloween. That makes more sense. I wish I could tell you the day, but I can't.

I was home alone, and that was weird because my mother was usually done with work by four. It was dark out. I was doing just fine until that really awful CGI skeleton monster. That's what did me in. I had to call someone. Back in the time when we had a landline phone and I hadn't developed that same problem every twenty-something has with making phone calls. Instead of calling my mother to find out why she wasn't home from work yet, I called my grandpa. My step-dad's dad. We were close in a way I am uncomfortable with now. He doesn't matter though. I just remember being scared and turning on every light and calling him. I don't remember if I was worried about my mother not being home yet, I don't remember anything really, until she got home. I know I talked to her in the car, but I don't remember it. I was only eleven.

She thought I'd name you Simba. I was obsessed with the Lion King, even five years after it came out. I had - no, I still have an incredibly ratty Simba plushie that I took with me ev-er-y-where. But no, I looked at you and I knew. I just knew.

You were a tiger.

You've been a trouble maker from the beginning. I remember sitting on the stairs and holding my foot over you. You'd wrap your paws around and bite. I'd pick you up like that. I remember my mother saying that I'd freak out if anyone else ever did that to you. I remember walking to the store by myself one day and buying you a leash. I never used it. I never actually leash trained you. I just took you outside a lot. It was a safe neighborhood.

But then you started trying to sneak out.

I don't remember if it was the first time you did it, but it was early on and it was one of the most traumatic experiences. I came home from school and you just took off right out the door. You ran across the street at the same time a car was passing. Oh I remember dying right there. Screaming. I don't think the car even stopped. Slowed. You were faster that time though.

We started going out the door backwards. Trying to make sure you didn't get out too. You're an indoor cat, buddy. I know you don't think you, but you are. My heart needs you to be. That morning before we left for Florida. Oh that was the worst day of my life up until that point, and it would still make the list of dark days, though I've had more and worse since then. It was just all so hectic. I didn't know what to do. We were leaving for Florida. For a week. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay. I needed to stay home because you were gone. But my mother wouldn't let me.

That wasn't a fun vacation.

We came back home. You hadn't yet. I started school. I started walking around the apartment complex. I talked to strangers. I had strangers coming to ask me if this was my cat. They weren't you. It was October now. It'd been about two months.

Two months when my mother asked me to come outside and help her bring in some groceries.

You weren't groceries. You were standing in the back window. She wasn't sure if it was you, when she was driving by the main office. But I knew. I distinctly remember getting you out of the car, and holding you, and sitting in the road, and crying. Two months and you were less than a block away.

I'm twenty-seven now. I have had you for sixteen years. You're laying on my blanket next to me, Discordia is grooming you. She probably loves you as much as I do. You are the neediest cat I have ever met. You are simultaneously a cranky old man and just the world's biggest mama's boy. You spend at least a portion of every night and every morning curled up in my arms in front of my face. If I am trying to do literally anything, you think it would be better if I were just holding you. You can't grasp the concept that you can walk BEHIND the laptop to get to my left side. You don't realise that I can't actually see the television through your side. You have no idea that it is incredibly painful when you stand on my collar bone.

I love you so fucking much. Please give me at least another sixteen years.

I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much as I want you to be happy. It's really difficult sometimes. You just walk around crying sometimes. You follow me around and stare up at me and yell. I can't figure out what you want. I think it's just wet food. I really do think you just want more wet food. Every day, every meal, wet food. You'll rot your teeth out if you do that young man. Maybe one day I'll learn how to feed you a hand prepared raw diet. Do you think you'd like that?

I'm thirty years old now. And you're gone. I didn't get the extra 16 years I'd asked for, but I did get an amazing 3 more. No matter how much time I would have gotten with you, I know it would never have been enough. I sincerely hope your last months, weeks, days were calm, at least. Despite doing everything I could for you, I still think there is more I could have done. I tried to keep you comfortable, letting you sleep on the bed. I should have tried hard to give you more fluids. I held you all through your last night. Discordia misses you, too. She hasn't left my side since we put you to rest. And you did deserve to rest. I can't say that enough. You were so good, and you fought so hard. I hope you're safe and warm.

09/23/1999 - 10/17/2018