During Labor Day weekend in 2009, my beloved Bunnelina died of lymphoma. We been doing everything we could to treat her, but we had to rush her to the hospital late one night and make the final decision. Her loss was a devastating blow to me; I have never been so grief-stricken.
We adopted Wendy a few weeks later, but I could soon tell she'd be my husband's cat. I began looking for a friend for her. And a cat for me.
This is the one who saved me:
Seven years have passed since little "Passamaquoddy" chatted and sang his way home to Boston from his foster home in Marlborough, Massachusetts.
Man, he was an adorable baby. His rescue shelter thought he was female. My husband was insisting on a girl but I wanted a boy since we had just gotten Wendy. Then I fell in love with Possum.
Passamaquoddy and his siblings Abenaki and Ossippee.
Photo: CaRMaH (Cat Rescue of Marlborough and Hudson)
The night he went for his pre-adoption checkup, they learned he was a boy, and his foster mother emailed me the news. My husband was already in bed and I remember sitting at my desk, yelling: "He's a boy! We're getting a little boy!"
In those days, he was so tiny and snuggly that he'd try to crawl into the sleeve of my bathrobe to get closer. And even then he had the most winning, wise, and soulful gaze.
Now he is bigger, even wiser, and far more dignified:
But I will never forget the innocent little guy he used to be. I knew he'd grow up to be a superlative cat and a champion napper. He showed early promise:
Today he's the Top Cat of the household and rules us all, awake or asleep. Cats are our greatest gift.