You, doggie dear, are the first pet I have any memory of. My sister got you as a gift for her 4th or 5th birthday, and she was maybe the cutest thing ever that day when she picked you up from your red-ribboned box. She also got a play tunnel that day, and I remember laughing and crawling down the tunnel after your furry grey bottom. Amy, ever the clever one, named you after the color of your coat.
Then you went and ate some poisonous berries and died. That was fucking weak. We should have taught you better.
Rest in Peace,
You were the neighbor's dog, but I loved you like my own. You would sit in Mom's flower bed and that would really piss her right off. Good going, there. Also, thanks for letting me ride you. I know my 3-year-old ass was really boney and I may have kicked your flank a time or two. What a shitty neighbor kid I was. I am also sorry about calling you Socks and Shoes instead of just Socks. I was a miserable brat who did not fully appreciate your humble good nature.
I'm sure you are also dead, so please rest in peace as well,
Dear That One Turtle,
My redneck family had no right buying you for my sister and I since all we had to keep you in was that fish tank with a rock in it. And a garden hose.
It's sad you died so soon. But, to be honest, I got over it pretty quickly because you were boring beyond belief. You'd never let me touch your neck or anything.
You were my only turtle ever though. (Besides that one turtle from Dad's pond that my uncle shot to bits with a rifle when he was drunk. Not my pet, but you can clearly see you were slightly better off than other turtles in my past.)
Dear That One Litter of Kittens,
You may have heard my sister and I tell our father we understood and were okay with his giving you guys away. But please know that when you left Amy and I cried for you like we'd lost six little, wriggly, tan-spotted pieces of our hearts.
Sorry we didn't show it when it mattered,
You were our family cat during a very fucked up period of my childhood. You saw some of the truly wack shit go down. Then, after a while you became my stepsister's cat. I'm not sure how that happened. I think the apartment we moved to wouldn't allow you. I'm sure you got fat and happy on second hand bong rip's at the stepsister's, so that isn't so terribly bad. I'm sorry my Mom named you after Number 3 in the Holy Trinity. That's some namesake to live up to.
You are also probably dead. Which sucks.
My cousin Amanda showed up with you in her jacket, just a tiny puppy Bassett Hound whose ears were like elephants'. You were the most adorable puppy on the planet until you grew big and slobbery and stinky. Goddamn, you were stinky. You are one of the stinkiest breeds around, ya know.
Which is not a good enough excuse for neglecting you. Sure you were fed and watered. And had other puppies to play with. But no one walked you and you were never, ever allowed inside and well, you were just so stinky. And sad looking.
And then you died. Cancer. And I cried and cried because I was just a kid or I wouldn't have let you stay out back so alone. I cried because I never got to know you.
With deepest regret,
Mom declawed you which is totally fucked. You used to be such a hunter. Dead mice every day! You were the spritely cat of the house.
Now you just sit on the end of Mom's big bed and sit. With your clawless feet pushed under your white patch. Makes me sad that you have aged so.
And what the fuck is up with the allegy assault? It never used to be this way. Now I go to Mom's and within an hour my eyes are red and wet and itchy. Do you know it is impossible to scratch the roof of one's mouth? They say people develop new allergies over time. Guess we've both changed a lot.
At least you have that awesome view of the bird feeder,
First things first. Sorry for closing you up in that drawer all day while we were at school. I'm not sure if it was Amy's fault or mine, but that fact remains that you spent 8 hours in a dresser drawer. That had to have blown hard.
Also, that was the best thing ever when you came back to life. You disappeared for two whole days and my sister was wrecked. (Technically you are her cat, but we lived together for like, 7 years, and you watched me bathe a bunch. So you are partially mine, too.) Then our aunt called and said she'd seen you flattened on the highway. She could tell it was you from your distinctive, squirrel-like tail. My sister had to call in to work she was so destroyed. Mom and the stepdad went and scraped you up off the road and had a little serivce and burial for you in the yard. They say it's important to see the body one last time in order to grieve properly. Everyone was a mess for the rest of the evenin until you showed up the next morning, pretty as you please, at the back door. Whining.
Thanks to your little prank--hiding in the neighbor's garage for the weekend--everyone was incredibly torn up. How could you let us bury some random cat in the backyard?
At least that cat had a proper burial In fact, minus the tears, that was a pretty awesome stunt.
I guess you will always be my motherfucker, Abigail. Even if you've never loved anyone as much as that sister of mine.
You should try and deal with your attatchment issues, as well. Never has a cat been so needy. At least you rock that big, all-over cat afro.
Your Mom's sister,