Thirty, Nerdy, and Trying

 Well look who managed to make it to 30!

Alex and I went to the Dallas Arboretum to see their pumpkin display

Yeah, I’m now officially entering my third decade on this high-speed space rock, and honestly, I’m glad to be doing so. I know plenty of folks older than me who say that their thirties are some of the best years of their lives, and maybe I’ll be in that camp. Either way, I’m ready for my birthday party to kick off the fall and winter holiday sprint. I’ve always kind of liked that about my birthday. Halloween, though it is my second favorite holiday, may not be celebrated until after my birthday. It’s the appetizer, and everyone knows the appetizers are some of the best things on a menu.

It really doesn’t seem like enough to measure life in something as cold and impersonal as time, at least not to me. My brother died at 17, that seems like almost nothing. There has to be a better measure.

I am reminded of the song “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent (which I have seen live), and with a landmark birthday, it’s kind of interesting to look at how we have measured the years of our lives. In jobs we’ve worked? Vacations taken? Books read? Pandemics survived? (please let that one stay at one) The conclusion of the song is to measure your life in love. But that begs the question, how can you measure your life in love? Love is hard to count. If you, my readers will indulge me, I’d like to share some ways that I measure the love that makes my life.

Love is not something just to be received, it has to be given. I am blessed every day with opportunities to give love to other people. And not just people, my dear cats get loved from toe beans to tail-tip every single day. Love goes beyond the romantic, and as I always say, love is a verb. Love is present in the small things that can be done for someone else every day. In listening and being consistent. In an honest answer and an offer of help. Every bit of love I can give to anyone else makes up the measure of my life, more than any date on the calendar possibly can. I fully admit that I am far from the most loving person in any room, but darn it I try.

How can I measure love and not count the love that is shown to me every day? A grand gesture is great every now and then, but just as important are the daily, consistent little snippets of love. The feeling that someone actively wants to be around me says a great deal. I have the blessing of people who love me, and no matter how much love I give, it can’t tip the scale on the love that I have been given. And it shouldn’t. That’s the big thing, love doesn’t keep score. It doesn’t have to be tit for tat. Which is great, because that would be exhausting.

Finally, and most importantly, I have the immeasurable love of my Creator. Which honestly isn’t fair to put on here because everyone has the same amount, and the amount can’t be measured. That one is on a whole other level, so I won’t dwell on it too long.

Love given, love received, and love infinite. Not a bad way to measure, and not a bad life. If the moon comes crashing out of the sky tomorrow, I’m raising a toast and going out with a smile. The phrase “Thirty, flirty, and thriving” is entirely too I-drink-my-pumpkin-spice-latte-out-of-an-Ugg-boot for me. I’m more of an I-drink-my-black-coffee-out-of-a-combat-boot kind of girly. Maybe the phrase on my silly birthday shirt should be “Thirty, nerdy, and trying.” Because that’s who I am. And I would never want to be anyone else. Getting older isn’t bad, and it sure beats the alternative. I fully intend to (pardon my dismembering of Latin) carpe the diem, the week, the month, and the year. Happy birthday to me, and I hope you have a good day.

Older and hopefully wiser,

Kim

Farewell to AnimeFest

 This last weekend was the last AnimeFest. The heads of the convention have decided not to continue holding the event. I have been to this convention six times and it will always have a special place in my heart. Every convention is a little bit different, and some are better than others. AnimeFest has the distinction of always being fairly well-run and having some of my favorite panelists and artists every year. So, as a send-off to this event, I would like to share some special memories I have of AnimeFest.

Charlie was so much fun to cosplay, she's definitely going to come out again at future cons.

-The first AnimeFest I ever attended was a month after I moved to Texas. It was the first convention I was able to attend after I moved. Looking back on the pictures, I can't help but smile. The big anime that year was Yuri on Ice!!! (the exclamation points are part of the title, I don't make the rules), and a college friend who lived in Maryland at the time flew down and joined in the merriment. We cosplayed our favorite characters and the Yuri on Ice!!! photoshoot was one of the biggest ones I have ever participated in, second only to the Disney shoot at Katsucon.

Look at me and Rachael, being silly

-AnimeFest used to host a competition called Ani-Idol, where contestants would sing prepared songs from various anime in front of judges for prizes. Out of many contestants, I made the finals. The finals were held at 9am on Sunday. Now, anyone who has sung knows that this is not the optimal time to be singing, especially not if you happen to be a soprano like myself. High notes tend to not happen before 10am without a lot of preparation, and the third day of an anime convention is not conducive to proper vocal prep. I got out of bed at 6am after being out until 1am to be in cosplay (I got a score bonus for cosplaying the show I was singing from), warmed up, and ready to perform. I walked away with fifth place, and I was very proud of myself.

I was dressed as Kotori from Love Live!

-I walked into my hotel room with a bag, announcing "Look what I won at a panel!" This happened every. Single. Year. One year, I made it my goal to acquire as much free stuff as I could. This meant trying to get on stage in every game panel I could. At the end of the convention, my pile of free stuff was larger than my pile of stuff that I bought. 

-Speaking of interesting things bought at a convention, at one point I bought a few volumes of manga. They were wrapped in plastic, and when I went back to the hotel room, I unwrapped them. A DVD fell out of one. A DVD with the logo of the publisher and no other information. In a volume of manga. My friends and I were all rather confused. So we all agreed that whatever this thing was, it needed to be investigated. We popped in in a DVD player and discovered......it was a bunch of trailers for anime from the early 2000's. We watched the trailers and laughed at how absurd the whole situation was.

-Looking back at my pictures, I realized that AnimeFest was where I first wore one of my most iconic cosplays, Ariel in her pink ball gown. I love this cosplay, it would make my six-year-old self proud. It seems appropriate that the final year for AnimeFest would be the year I show off one of my best props, Charlie's battle trident.

I always love wearing this cosplay

Conventions are a unique experience that is kind of hard to describe. This is partially because some of the best things about cons are those small moments that aren't on the schedule, that just kind of happen. Like bursting into a hotel room with a free poster and explaining the grand tale of my victory in a trivia panel though my deep knowledge of the manga of highest art that is Ranma 1/2. Or waiting in line for a panel and making the acquaintance of a first time con-goer who had no idea that there were so many people as nerdy as them. Or being in a hotel with 10,000+ people and somehow managing to run into the same person three times in a single day, then exchanging social media info and suddenly having a new friend. 

Thank you to everyone who made AnimeFest happen over the years, your efforts were appreciated. I hope my friends and I can find a new con in DFW during the summer, because I need something between the Texas Frightmare and the TRF. I'm sad to see it end, but I'm glad I got six years of AnimeFest. Here's to even more cons with even more memories.

Grocery Shopping Victory!

 This blog post is nothing deep, it's just a story about my life that I made interesting through narrating in my own head like a cartoon character.

It all started when I received a coupon in the mail. This was a coupon for $20 off of a $200 purchase at Kroger. I do all of the shopping for Alex and myself, as well as a portion of shopping for our friend who rents our spare room (he joins us for dinner most nights because it's easier to just make one meal for everyone). The weekly grocery shop has totaled over $200 more than once, especially if there are non-food items on the list. This should be a cinch. I prepared my list for Friday. I get quadruple fuel points on Fridays, which keeps my average fill-up to a total cost not seen since 2020. I had planned on attending a concert with a friend that evening, but if I could avoid dawdling in the aisles, I should have plenty of time.

When Friday finally dawned....I had already been awake for a while. I went in to work early because the schedule was a doozy. It would have been a medium amount of work normally, but my supervisor, the only other person who shares my duties, was on vacation, so it was all me. Fine. Then the doctor drops that she wants results an hour earlier than usual because she needs to leave. I tell her I make no promises, but I will do what I can. Then the patients had the audacity to arrive early, which would normally be great, but on this day that means I'm stuck trying to cram a full day of work into about five hours. It was all fine, I had great help, but I was grateful to leave and start my weekend.

I had my list, I had my reusable grocery bags, I rolled into the parking lot of Kroger with the air conditioner blasting (Texas in June is only slightly cooler than the devil's barbecue). I grabbed a grocery cart and began my mission. My objective: acquire $200 of groceries and get out in a reasonable amount of time.

My first stop: non-food items. Though not purchased as often, non-food goods like makeup and toiletries can add up fast. Unfortunately, the household was not short on any of those things. There is one thing, however, that will be quickly used and has a decent price tag: cat food. With two energetic, 10-month-old kittens in the house, an extra supply of cat food will not go to waste. I found the usual brand of kibble and was pleased to see that it was on special. If I buy 3 or more bags, each bag is $2 off. So three bags we into my cart, $15 each with the discount, $45 toward my goal.

I proceeded to the grocery section, acquired all of the items on my list, and looked in the cart. There is no way this is over $200. I opened my couponing app and made a second pass of the store, throwing in items that would keep for a while and were currently discounted. I looked in the cart once more. We're close, but I'm not sure it's over $200 yet. So I made one more pass of the store, roaming the aisles and throwing in anything with a sale tag that I knew I could use. A brick of cheddar cheese here, two boxes of pasta there, a few cans of chickpeas for good measure. I was finally satisfied with the look of my cart and turned toward the self-checkout, grabbing a pack of gum just in case. Honestly, I probably looked slightly crazed, so single-minded was my focus.

Before I began the process of scanning and bagging my loot, I took stock of items around the register just in case I came up short. I was relieved to see a small selection of gift cards that I could use as a safety item. I scanned my items and bagged them, watching the total slowly rise. My bags steadily filled with produce, dry goods, and frozen foods. When the total reached $160 and I still had items to go before my trump card cat food, I smiled like....someone way too involved in their grocery shopping. When I scanned the last bag of cat food, I saw that the total had reached the $260's. But there was one more potential obstacle. That total was before all of the sale prices and digital coupons were applied, and I had a LOT of sale items. I hit "Finish and Pay" and watched the total drop......to $226. I had won. I slapped my coupon on the scanner and saw my final total: $206.86. I tapped my card and received a receipt as long as my arm. At the bottom of the receipt was the total amount that sales and coupons had saved me. 

That's a new record for me. It's the little things in life.

I trotted into the scorching-hot parking lot with my booty and my tale of glory. I shared my tale with my best friend in a most dramatic fashion as we dined on chicken and fries before the concert. I thought that those who read my blog might get a laugh out of it. I'm not going on Extreme Couponing any time soon, but just like everyone else, I'm trying to live in a world of growing costs. If I can have a little fun with couponing and managing the spending of my household, so be it. I'm grateful for the jobs that Alex and I have and the blessing of a reasonable amount of financial security. That could all change in a second, so I'll enjoy what I have while I have it. 

Thank you for reading possibly one of the silliest blog posts ever. Have a good day!

1 Year later and I'm Turning Into My Mother

Facebook has informed me that I have been married for exactly one year!

What does it feel like? Not that different, actually. It just feels like the next step down the path that Alex and I have chosen for ourselves. We still make time for each other just like we did when we were dating, and we still hang out with our friends apart from each other.

What has changed the most is the surroundings, honestly. My blog post about my wedding was written in a apartment, this one is written in a house. I wrote about my wedding with the darling cat of my childhood purring next to me, I write this with a pair of kittens sprawled on the other side of the couch, a couple of new lives as we begin a new chapter of our own.

Instead of having to save the top tier, our bakery gave us a free anniversary cake

Home ownership has brough out things about me that I had forgotten about. I remember now how much I loved having a bird feeder to look at, and how I loved identifying the birds (and the squirrels) as they came to snack. I used to do chores in the yard and garden regularly. I haven't used any of that knowledge in years, and here I am, regaling Alex with the proper care of tomato plants. This proves to me that the dreaded fate of the daughter is coming true: I am turning into my mother!

Mother's Day is fast-approaching, so let me tell you about my mother, and why I am turning into her. My mother raised a garden all through my childhood and to this day. Every day, she was happy to see the little plants progress, tending them until they were ready to harvest and enjoy. I remember her calling me to the garden to show me an exceptionally large squash or an oddly-shaped tomato.

As anyone who gardens can attest, no one grows a garden just for themselves, not unless you are deeply passionate about grilled zucchini. If you have a garden you share. My mother was no exception, foisting buckets of zucchini, jars of salsa, and bags of green beans off onto anyone who would take them. We made zucchini bread, scones, and a decadent chocolate zucchini cake that I remember to this day. Even after all of that, we still had extra vegetables. I was given free reign to smush up old cucumbers, zucchini, and tomatoes at my grandparents' cabin, making a huge, mushy mess to dump in the lake.

At the time, I didn't fully appreciate the joys of gardening. It was hot, and the mosquitos found me delicious. It seemed like a lot of work, the kind of work that leaves one sweaty and mud-streaked. But when Alex and I were looking at houses, we were also looking at back yards. When Alex and I looked out the back door of the house that would be ours, I said "This would be great for a garden."

A garden I wanted, and a garden I would have. I dove into research and constructed raised beds to alleviate the problems of the north Texas clay-packed soil. I built the boxes and asked for assistance hauling in mulch and soil. I selected plants and carefully placed them in the beds. And I waited.

Anyone who knows me knows that I like things to happen quickly. If I am given a chore, it's done within hours. If I decide to plan a vacation, I have flights priced out in minutes. If I decide to build a costume, I've already got a plan and I'm brainstorming how to make the character on the screen abide by the laws of physics enough to make a costume possible. But you know what gardening takes? Time. Patience. *Sigh* Sometimes I feel like God played a joke on me, putting a desire to garden in a brain that doesn't like to wait. I've always thought of my mother as a patient person (she raised four kids, if she wasn't patient before, she is now), so like my mother, I was patient, and I found that the waiting wasn't as hard as I thought. I found joy in stomping out to the garden every day to look at the progress. I stared at my little plants, wondering "is that a new leaf? Are they getting taller?"

I marveled at the natural processes so finely tuned by the Creator. I hoped that I had set up the boxes correctly, that the soil would support my fast-growing vegetables. At this point, I am more observer than keeper. My back yard has been blessed with rain every week, meaning I barely have to water, a rarity in this part of the country. I weed and ensure that my plants remain unbothered by pests. And they grow, they do all the work. I call Alex over to show him my first zucchini as it grows seemingly an inch every day, and to ramble about my plan to turn these tiny green tomatoes into salsa when they grow fat and red. Just like my mother used to do to me. I am turning into my mother.

And I get it. I want to share this garden, too. I want to make that rich zucchini cake again, and offer my friends extra tomatoes. I have enjoyed conversing with my mom on the joys of gardening, asking her what kitchen scraps to save for composting, and even giving her tips like using a hose timer for consistent watering.

I'm not sure if my other knew it at the time, but when she was asking me for help picking green beans and explaining how far apart to plant the peas, she was planting another kind of seed. A seed of appreciation for the simple act of growing food. And that appreciation has given me a hobby that yields more than just a fine homemade salsa. As the plants grow, I am working to grow patience. I am appreciating the beauty of life as it erupts from the ground. Humanity has gardened for millennia, and I'm just continuing the tradition. Sounds pretty grand for a back yard, doesn't it?

These pictures were taken eight days apart, it will never cease to amaze me. The zucchini in stores always look so small, i like to let them get a bit bigger. This one will be delicious!

But the big thing that puts a smile on my face today is this: I'm turning into my mother, in a good way. Sure, turning into your mother can be a bad thing, but in this case, it's not so bad. As I send her a picture of my huge zucchini and ask her for the family salsa recipe, I don't mind being a little more "Mom" today.

"Mom! Phineas and Ferb are Being Adorable!"

 So, a couple of weeks ago, Alex and I acquired a pair of kittens. I've posted the story of Puff's adoption on this blog. Now let me tell the story of Puff's little brothers, Phineas and Ferb.

So, getting two cats was my idea. Puff did well as an only cat, she only needed me and she was fine. She didn't really like other cats. But not all cats are so solitary. Especially with owners that work outside the home, a lot of cats do well in pairs or small groups. They have someone to play with when the owners are out. And this way, Alex and I can both have a cat to hold at the same time!

Since Puff passed away, we have desperately wanted cats. It's honestly kind of pathetic. How am I supposed to lay in bed on a Saturday morning without a cat purring on my chest? Who can I talk to when I'm alone in the house? Every time I saw a cat, I zeroed in on it and tried to pet it with a single-minded focus akin to the feline fixation of my childhood (for those who did not know child Kim, my obsession with cats was rather....insane). Getting a cat at age 13 actually made me less obsessed with cats by channeling all the energy into one direction, that of my incredibly spoiled pet. Apparently, that obsession never actually went away, and boy was it surprising to have it rise to the surface again.

Whatever cats do to people, it's contagious. Is it love, or is it toxoplasmosis? Whatever it is, Puff gave it to Alex. He already liked cats when we met, and my little charmer hopped onto his lap and into his heart. He lived without cats for years, but after three years with Puff, he was counting the days until "new cats day" right alongside me. I've ruined him, he's a cat dad forever now. He is particularly fond of black cats because they make him feel like a wizard.

Two cats that are already friends, at least one of them black. A simple order, one that we should be able to find in all of DFW. On the Saturday after New Year's, we set out. We started with the Denton Humane Society, then the local PetSmart. We were surprised at how few paired cats we saw. Orr next stop was a nearby Petco, where I had seen a local organization say they had adoption events.

A corner of the store was filled with cages of cats. Alex and I walked over and saw a cage with two kittens asleep in a pile, one black and one unmistakably Siamese. The volunteer opened the door and invited us to pet them. When Alex put his hand in the cage, the little black one wrapped his little paw around Alex's finger and he was gone. That little pile of black fur had stolen his heart.

We held them, and the Siamese purred up a storm in my arms. We learned that though they are not brothers, they are best friends and would do well adopted together. We were told that they were sociable, playful, and cuddly, a great match for us. The black one was named Gravy beacuse he had been found in a tiny cage in a trailer park being fed table scraps. The Siamese was named Champagne Problems after the Taylor Swift song. We signed the papers and they were ours.

"Mom, you have two hands. One for each kitty. Now pet us!" (Look at their little Valentine's Day collars)

Riding passenger with a box of kittens on your lap is possibly one of the best feelings in the world. They stuck their little paws out the holes in the side, asking for attention. I told them that they were going to a new home with toys, treats, and lots of love.

We put the box in a bathroom with a litterbox and opened it. The Siamese leapt out immediately, wanting to explore. The black cat decided to hide. We intended to leave them in there fora few hours, butthe siamese insisted upon inspecting the entire house. There were things to be sniffed! By evening, he was playing with us in the living room, totally comfortable in the new space.

His adoptive brother took his time. He spent a few days hiding under the bed, only coming out if i coaxed him or put a food bowl next to the bed. Slowly but surely, i lured him with a toy down the hall and into the dining area, where he foumd food and water. When he decided that the living room was a good place, the siamese, excited to finally have someone to play with, instigated the first of many wrestling matches.

We knew that these boys needed new names for their forever home. They were a pair, so they needed a pair of names. Coffee and Bagel? Cookies and Cream? Pinky and The Brain? We bounced names back and forth until we found a set that just felt right.

They are Phineas and Ferb, the main characters of a cartoon by the same name. Ifyouare not familiar eith it, I highly recommend at least looking up some clips. It's about two boys who get into wild adventures in their back yard. Phineas is the ringleader and the more talkative, and Ferb famously says one line per episode. It's one of those kids cartoons that adults also enjoy for its creativity and music, so Alex and I are both fans. The siamese is into everything and likes to talk in his little kitten squeak, so he's Phineas. The black kitty is a bit more shy, but very affectionate and nice, so he's Ferb. The boys in the show are also step-brothers, so it's even more fitting for our brothers from another mother!

No one is alone with these bots in the house. Ferb sits on Alex when he plays video games, and Phineas likes to watch me cook from the kitchen stool. They follow me around the house in the morning and sleep piled around me at night.

I'm so glad we have our sweet boys. Their big sister Puff...would probably not be a fan since she didn't like other cats much. But they are good successors, and I'll be sharing their antics for years to come. The house is a home once again.

Have a great day, and pet an animal if you get a chance!

My 2024 Challenge

Okay, before we get into my 2024 challenge, let's review the last year. Because 2023 was quite a year for me, and I feel like I should give the year its due.

This is one of my favorite light displays in my neighborhood. Peanuts Christmas has a special place in my heart.

I began the year an engaged woman with one living grandparent and one cat, living in an apartment. All of those things changed. First, my grandmother passed away, meaning that all of my grandparents were present at my wedding, but only in spirit. I gained a wonderful husband to be my partner in this all-around weird experience called life. My new husband and I went to Switzerland on our honeymoon. Switzerland! It's still kind of amazing to say it. We were able to buy a home together, which neither of us had anticipated. Then, after we had moved into out new house, my cat, my dear Puff, passed away. So much has changed. Not necessarily for better or for worse, just different. Just life doing life things. Time passing as it should. We all learn what we can through the seasons and take life as it comes.

In 2024 I will turn 30, and that doesn't scare me one bit. A lot of people my age are afraid of it, but I guess I just wasn't born with that fear. I'd rather grow old than the alternative, so I'll just be a cool old person. But will I also help to throw overdramatic "funerals for my 20's" for all of my friends and probably myself? Of course! Will there also be cakes made with black cocoa powder decorated with snarky phrases? What do you take me for?

In 2024, I resolve to get a pair of cats. *whispering from off-stage* I have been told that this does not count as a resolution. Alex and I are getting cats anyway. Not only for our own companionship, but because I currently cannot be near an animal and not try to pet it. It's going to get dangerous with the local wildlife if I don't get some kind of furry creature into my home real soon here. The little furballs will be all over my social media, so be on the lookout in the coming days.

So, on to my challenge for 2024. This idea came into my head when I was helping my mother bake a pumpkin pie. She uses the tried-and true Libby's pumpkin pie recipe from the back of the can of pumpkin. I was looking at the recipe card, then I looked at the can of pumpkin, which was another brand. I noticed that the recipe was different. And I started thinking about all of those classic back-of-the-box recipes that so many homemakers have had as staples through the decades. The most well-known of these is the Toll House chocolate chip cookies. It feels like cheating, but it really is a great chocolate chip cookie recipe. I guarantee someone you know had a "special cookie recipe" that is just the Toll House recipe. It got me thinking: What other recipe gems are hiding on containers in my kitchen?

So, my fun little challenge for 2024 is to cook my way through the recipes that are already in my kitchen. I took a few minutes on January 1st to turn around every bottle, box, canister, and bag I could find in search of recipes. I took pictures of all of them and I intent to make them. There may be a really good recipe that I've been ignoring for years! From the Clabber Girl baking powder biscuits to the Grandma molasses barbecue sauce, the only ones I passed over are ones I know I won't like. If you want to know if the Panko coconut shrimp is any good, you're going to have to make it yourself, I don't like coconut.

Is it a resolution? Eh, not really, but resolutions have never been my thing anyway. I'll post my little pilgrimage through my cupboards on Facebook, so enjoy my results. Maybe I'll find a new favorite to keep on the recipe rotation!

I hope you are getting your new year off to a great start and that you have a good day in general. With any luck, my next post will be about new kitties. 

Here's to 2024!

Remembering Puff

On November 11, we laid to rest my beloved cat of 16 years, Puff. She has walked with me through so much of my life, and she deserves at least one blog post for her. And yes, she’s a cat. But she was mine, and I’m the one who knew her best and feels her loss deepest. So here are some beautiful memories of my special girl that I want to share. Unlike a person, she has no obituary in the paper, no fancy service, so let me give her a blog post. It's the least I can do for such a dear friend.

My little supermodel kitty

I have to start with when I got her. I have always loved cats, and those who knew me as a child will know that my love was near obsessive. I had wanted a cat for years, and it was finally time for me to have one. We went to farms where people were giving away kittens, and we looked at the humane society, to no avail. On the day before I started seventh grade, we decided to try the humane society one more time, and there she was. It wasn’t one of those starry eyed love-at-first-sight moments, I honestly don’t think I’m a person who has those. But she was a sweet, pretty girl who would get along with the current ruler of the house, my brother’s cat, Kuzco.

When we brought her home, she was very quiet, not meowing, but only giving the occasional trill and purring. That cat spent most of her waking hours purring, always happy. We noticed that the fur was rubbed off of her little forelegs from reaching through the bars of her cage. Poor thing needed lots of attention, and who better to give it than someone who had literally read the encyclopedia entry on cats multiple times?

As we got to know her, we kept finding that Puff was…perfect. Not only was she a lovely cat to look at, with her long silky tortoiseshell fur and round, orange eyes, she was nice. She didn’t scratch or bite, and she liked being around people, even submitting to being carried around on her back and having her belly rubbed. She kept herself very clean and well-groomed, and she used the litter box perfectly from day one. She was even quiet to boot, so we gave her a collar with a bell, otherwise we couldn’t find her. She only meowed in distress, the rest of the time she spoke in a sweet little trill. What on earth was she doing at the humane society? Who would give up such a great house pet?

However she got there, she was mine now, and nothing could keep us apart. Every morning, my mom would use her to wake me up for school, knowing I was awake when I reached up to give my girl her morning hug and skritches. This was short lived, however. She would run off and proceed to get a case of “the wildies” or as the internet affectionately calls it, “the zoomies.” She would race around the house as I got ready for school, eyes wide and tail fluffed up.

When I would come home from school, she would meet me at the door to be scooped up and cuddled. If I had a bad day, my mom would bring her to me for comfort. It didn’t make my problems go away, but it’s nice to have a little living creature that’s happy to see you and thinks you’re the best thing ever. I would read in bed every night, and Puff was my little book rest. She would sit by me and politely look at my book, then look at me until I accommodated and lifted my book for her to sit on my lap.

Puff had to be involved in whatever I was doing. She would sit right in the middle of any craft project like she belonged there and petting her was an important part of the process. Making beds was near impossible without locking her out of the room, or else she would insist on being made into the bed. Every year when the Christmas decorations came out, there was a little pile of orange and black sticking out of the garland. I didn’t have the heart to make her stop, it was so cute.

When I went to college, I couldn’t bring pets, so Puff had to stay with my mom. Apparently, she would look for me whenever I left and was happiest when I was home. Even though she was mostly cared for by my mom, she was still my cat.

Though she was definitely mine first and foremost, Puff never met a stranger. If guests were in our house and sitting down, my little furball had to make the lap rounds and see who gave the best pets. She was particularly fond of people with long legs because they had the most lap to stretch out on. Ever the little lady, she would daintily hop onto a lap and settle herself down, purring and asking for pets. Even people who didn’t like cats had a hard time resisting such a cutie. You had to at least give her a few pets, it would be cruel not to! Over the years, she melted more than a few hearts. It gave me a sense of pride to hear “I don't normally like cats, but I like this one.” My little charmer.

When I moved to Texas, I initially didn’t bring Puff with me because I didn’t have a job and wasn’t sure I would be able to afford the pet deposit. But by the grace of God and nothing less, I quickly found a job and built a nice little life. But I missed having someone greet me at the door, or a furry creature on my lap in the evenings. I wanted a cat. I asked my mom if I was crazy to want a cat and she replied with “Can I bring your cat when I visit?” And of course I said yes. I was reunited with my fur baby once more!

My friends in the area, who had heard me talk about my darling cat, finally got the chance to meet Puff. They are good people, so of course they petted her when she jumped on their laps. She left her furry little pawprints on every heart. Her presence was a welcome staple of every gathering in my apartment.

When I met Alex, the man who would become my husband, he shared a house with several other people, so no pets. But he had always liked cats especially, and was quite pleased when Puff jumped onto my lap during a video date. When he met her in person, he quickly fell in love with her (Quicker than he fell in love with me? Maybe). He suddenly had to adjust to having his work or games constantly interrupted by an orange and black intruder who needed attention right this second. And he loved it. When he worked from home, he would send me pictures of her just being cute. He loved scooping her up and cuddling her. She absolutely stole his heart, and she knew it. Puff had Alex wrapped around her little toe bean.

When she was 13, she became half the cat she was, losing weight at a rate that made no sense given her appetite. She had never been a big eater and had no interest in most human foods (except going feral on the occasional empty tuna can), but she was still eating her normal amount. I took her to the vet. They wanted to runs some blood tests, so I went to work and waited for the call.

I was sure that Puff had some life-threatening condition, work was not easy that day. I was terrified that I’d be leaving the vet’s office with an empty carrier that day. I got the call to come pick her up, and it was good news. She had hyperthyroidism, totally manageable with daily medication. Puff has never had a problem taking pills, and the pills were cheap, so I was overjoyed that my girl still had some time with me.

Puff was never much of a “chatty” cat, but as she got older, her trills became so human it was almost uncanny. She had one that was a perturbed “Mom” when I pulled her away from something she shouldn’t be getting into, like a drawer I was about to close. She had one that was “Hey,” for when she was disturbed from a nap. Still another was “Huh?” when something new confused her. She truly was a “people” cat, and it was funny.

Older cats need a little extra care and consideration, and Puff certainly needed that in her old age. I kept an ottoman next to the bed to make jumping up and down easier on her joints. I gave her wet food to help her with constipation. Her fur started getting knots because it was hard to groom, so I brushed her (despite her protests). I don’t begrudge it one bit. For every moment of “Ugh, I have to brush the cat and make her mad again,” there are a thousand moments of “Awwwww, she’s purring!” She was a happy little old lady, content to sit on a lap or a pillow and get skritches. When I got Puff, I didn’t consider that she would be waiting for me after my wedding, or that she would explore the backyard of my first house. But she did those things, and I’m so grateful.

On the evening of November 6, 2023, she started walking like she was off-balance, and seemed fussy and distressed. I was really worried, because a 16-year-old cat with a chronic condition can’t handle very many serious treatments. We got an appointment for Wednesday, and I told myself that it was an ear infection or something.

On Wednesday, I went to the vet with Alex to pick her up. She had kidney failure, and while she wasn’t suffering very badly at the moment, we would need to schedule the dreaded final vet visit sometime in the next week. I had mentally prepared myself for this moment as much as I could, but it still broke my heart. I’m glad I prepared myself, because I was still able to look at the vet with tears streaming down my face and say:

“Can you do Saturday? She’s a very well-loved cat and I want our friends to say goodbye to her. And I want to sit with her on Friday night.”

He checked the schedule, “We’re technically booked, but we can stay a little late. How about 4:30?”

And there it was. My time with my cat was no longer measured in years, months, or even weeks. I only had three days left.

I sent messages to my friends, inviting them to sit with me and my cat in her last days. I made her comfortable on the couch, and planned to spend as much time with her as I could. She was still eating, so I gave her the best wet food. She was so wobbly and unsteady, she couldn't climb into her litter box. We made her a makeshift potty pad in a corner, we felt she deserved a small bit of dignity. Alex and I sat with her and cried, knowing that we were doing our best, but hurting all the same.

The next morning, Puff seemed weaker than ever. Not in pain, but so unsteady and limp on the couch. I went to work looking like a wreck. My eyes were red and puffy, and my voice was constantly choking up with tears. I hated being away from Puff for any of her last hours, but I knew that taking off last minute to be with a pet is probably not the best use of my limited vacation days. My coworkers were all very sympathetic and understanding, they knew that Puff was a special part of my life, and some of them had lost long-time pets, too. I decided to hide in the lab so patients wouldn’t think I was sick, with my red eyes and sniffling. Seeing how weak she was, I was terrified that she would pass away while I was at work, with no one beside her. That thought alone made tears fall anew.

When I made it home and saw her still peacefully sitting on the couch, I cried with relief (this story is going to have a lot of crying). I went into the kitchen to make some dinner, and who should hobble her way into the kitchen just to be near me? My frail, tired little kitty! I held her and sort of cooked with the other hand until she was ready to settle back on the couch. When I sat down with my food, she was determined to get at my bowl. It was a burrito bowl with all kinds of things in it that are bad for cats, but I couldn't deny her a little something. I had Alex bring me some wet cat food and a spoon, and I fed her on my lap, pleased that she still had a good appetite. We watched nature documentaries because my heart couldn’t take much else, and I worked on a craft project. She could hardly walk, the poor thing, so I lifted her down from the couch when she wanted to and followed her around to pick her up if she fell on her way to the potty pad or food bowl.

Friday, Alex was off for Veterans’ Day, so he could stay with Puff and make sure she didn’t fall and hurt herself. After I got home, several friends came over to say their goodbyes. They all saw how weak she was and assured me that it was time. Tears were shed over her, and she made the lap rounds one last time. Sick as she was, she was still Puff, and she needed laps.

Alex and I both slept on the couch before the fateful Saturday, neither of us could stand to be away from her. I woke up on that awful morning with Puff curled up on my chest. I have woken up with Puff on my chest hundreds of times over the years, but this is one I will remember forever. I gave her the last dose of the painkillers from the vet, fed her more wet food with a spoon, wiped her clean with a pet-safe wet wipe, and sat with her. What else can you do as you count down the last hours of your furry friend’s life?

One more friend came to sit with us, and the hour grew near. She napped in the sun on the porch, munched on food, and was as sweet a cat as she had been her whole life. Alex and I wrapped her in a blanket and carried her on one last trip around the house, showing her all of her favorite places. She was so weak, she didn’t need a carrier, so I held her as Alex drove us to the vet.

The vet’s office is located inside a Petsmart, and as we walked in, the clerk said “What a beautiful cat!” and noticing that she had no carrier, “Is she sick?” Through tears, I said gently “She’s very old and crossing the rainbow bridge today.” I’m sure the clerk was mortified, but I was secretly proud of my little girl. Charming everyone right to the end.

I showed the vet techs a picture of Puff as a kitten so they could see what a lovely girl she was. The vet told us what would happen, that Puff would go into a deep, peaceful sleep, slipping away quickly and without pain. He assured us that we were making the right choice, saving her from a painful, lingering death. I knew in my head that it was best, but my heart broke for my dear friend.

Alex sat in a chair nearby and I stood at a table as they brought Puff in, a needle in her foreleg to make things go smoothly. I petted her and told her how much I loved her, that she wouldn’t hurt anymore, and she could visit me any time, if that’s something cats do. She was so limp, I didn’t feel her fall asleep. She was so weak, she passed away almost immediately when the vet gave the final shot. The last thing she felt was my hand stroking her fur, and the last thing she heard was my voice speaking words of love. That’s how it should be. If my dear Puff has to die, then she dies knowing that she was loved.

The vet took her to put her into a box for us, and Alex and I wept together. What else is there to do at that moment? We took our little box to the car, and I had to remind myself that it didn’t matter if I jostled the box on the way home. The contents would no longer be frightened or fuss.

When we walked into the house with no cat, Alex cried again. It was real. We no longer have a cat. He went to the backyard to dig the grave, and I took on the sad task of removing all evidence of a pet cat from our house. I cleaned up the litter boxes and potty pad, a chore I always hated, but would do a thousand times over for my Puff. I washed out the food and water bowls, not refilling them this time. I threw away what remained of Puff’s thyroid medicine, those little pills that had bought me three more years with her. No matter how long she lived, I feel like it would never be enough for me to repay the love and joy she brought to me. Her little paw prints are all over my heart, and many other hearts as well.

Once the grave was dug, we laid Puff to rest with a poem: “If I Should Grow Frail” by Julia Napier. I encourage anyone dealing with the loss of a pet to read this poem, it’s beautiful. Puff will watch over the backyard forever. We have a little stone kitty to mark her grave, and we’ll have white daffodils in the spring. She’ll always be close to hand.

I didn’t throw away the empty litter boxes or food bowls. I will need them again. Alex and I want another cat. In fact, we want two cats. We plan to adopt a pair of littermates in the new year. I won’t look for ones like Puff. I’ll never find another Puff, and it wouldn’t be fair to my new babies to compare them to her. She was one-of-a-kind, and I’m honored that I was able to share her whole life, from kittenhood to the final moment.

After Puff was laid to rest, I kept accidentally looking for her. I would see a shadow or hear something that was a bit like her tag jingling, and instinctively look for an orange and black pile of fur. But she’s gone. I won’t find her in the cushions of the couch or on my pillow. It hurts, but not like it did a while ago. It hurt more to see her suffer than to know she’s gone. The house feels too quiet, and the bed feels empty. But know this: I will take these days of tears and the ache in my heart if it means I got to share the life of such a wonderful creature. A week or two of being an emotional wreck? A pittance compared to years of scooping her up every day and hearing her purr. The loss hurts, but it only hurts this bad because the bond we shared was so great.

Thank you, Puff. Thank you for every moment on this earth. You were a blessing and a joy. May we meet again in a better place. Until then, sit on the laps of angels.