My Dearest Oreo,
The sunlight streaming through the window is as soft as ever, but my lap feels achingly empty now, without your warm, purring weight curled up like a living snowball. I keep imagining you peeking around the door with your little tuxedo face, knocking over my water glass with theatrical flair, or sneaking under the blankets to press your cold nose against my ankles at midnight. But when I reach out, my fingers only grasp the cold, quiet air.
I still remember the day we met-you were no bigger than my palm, a wobbling Oreo cream puff with eyes like melted amber. You'd wrestle curtain shadows, scatter kibble like confetti, and then gaze up at me with that shamelessly innocent face, dissolving my pretend scoldings into laughter. Even as you grew into a graceful lady, you never stopped your solemn duty as my "human alarm clock," patting my cheek with your velvety paw at dawn like it was the most sacred ritual.
That winter I had a fever, you stayed glued to my neck for days, a purring scarf with a heartbeat. You'd sprawl across my keyboard while I worked, your tail typing chaotic love letters into my documents. Now, those reports with your paw-shaped annotations are my most treasured relics.
Yesterday, I sorted through your toy box-the springy mouse's bell is rusted, the feather wand bald as a dandelion clock. Yet each trinket erupted into a hurricane of memories: your triumphant face when you first learned to open drawers, your Halloween-cat poofiness when the vacuum roared, and those late nights you kept me company by the monitor, constellations swimming in your eyes.
The vet said fifteen years is a grand age for a cat, but my greedy heart still aches for more sunrises with you. On that drizzly afternoon when you left, I held your cooling body and finally understood—a cat's lifespan is a gentle, lingering lesson in how deeply love can carve the soul.
Your bowl sits on the windowsill now, filled with your favorite chicken bites. When wind chimes dance, I like to think it's you chasing rainbow wand toys in the clouds. If lifetimes truly loop, promise you'll find me again—maybe as a sparrow tapping at my pane, a breeze tugging at the curtains, or a milk-stain smile on a newborn's cheek. I'll know it's you.
Thank you for teaching me tenderness, my little monochrome wizard. In the forev-er-dream where you now nap, may your litter box always sparkle and catnip fields stretch beyond the stars.
Always your mom & dad
