Harry.

Harry when my brother first got him home.

Things happen and we don’t always welcome it. We do not understand why something happened at some date, why things had to be changed and something had to disappear. We do not understand fate. We do not understand death. Because death is a change we wish didn’t happen.  Death of someone close is death of a piece of our soul. We have no protection against this lose. We have no way to fight it.

Harry, my little brother, my pet cat died a couple of days back. He had been missing for a few days and I couldn’t find him even after searching for him. I had kept my fingers crossed for his return. And then they found him, dead.

Maybe it was not really Harry that died, maybe it was a different similar looking cat and Harry was going to turn up the same day. That was what I told myself. Until I realized he wasn’t coming back and I mourned him.

I miss Harry. He was my little person, my little cat who went round and round my feet until I picked him up and scratched his ears or rubbed his tummy. He had the most beautiful eyes. So full of pure trust in his family. The first time he climbed up a place he didn’t know a way down, he cried until I came and got him to ground. When he went missing once before and fell down a ditch, he cried out when he heard my voice whistling for him. He trusted us to find him. And I couldn’t find him this time. I wish I could tell him how sorry I am, now much Sansa his sister misses him.

The last picture I took of him.

People tell him he is in a better place. I hope that is true. That he is in a world where there is lot of cat food and many rats to chase. And that there is someone to reprimand him when he brings home a dead rat yet tell him how proud they are of him for having caught one. He will remember me then and not forget he had us. That he has a family that loves him.

Harry was my very favorite, and with these words I honor his memory. I love you, little Harry. Thank you for your meows. They will forever echo in my world.