You were just born; a little dark ball of fuzz the size of my hand. You were a newborn, and I was 13; yet it seems so long ago. You were born under our garage, and from the moment I first saw you, I knew you were special. Your tiny little “mews” melted my heart.
Your mother eventually moved you and your sister right beside our door; I didn’t mind, you were just as much closer. School started, and you both waited for my brother and I to come walking up into the house. There you would run to us and meow, asking to be petted.
You were four or five months when my mom told me you had the same eye color as me. I still loved you and your entire family: Your mother, your sister, and you. By then we have had taken a picture of you and your family sleeping together. Your mother, you, and your sister, in that order. We still have that picture to this day.
Then came the night my entire family would look down upon: Halloween. October 31, 2001. The most dreaded date I will ever know. I was too ignorant to realize that you had disappeared that night. As I headed out with my friends to go trick-or-treating around 7:00, I never realized the danger you had found yourself in. I never realized that we were both betrayed by a boy we both knew and trusted. For me, the betrayal was heartbreaking. For you, the betrayal was fatal. I guess you never saw the baseball bat until it was too late. By the time you could do anything, all your legs were broken.
I still blame myself for being so ignorant. My mom got a call the next day from the sheriff. She then explained it to me. I cried for hours, and I still do today. About a week later, your mother left, leaving your sister, who we named Smokey, behind. It was soon obvious she wouldn’t come back. Smokey was left all alone in the cold weather. She spent her days laying in a bucket you once slept in. It apparently hit us both pretty hard. After a while, we let her in the house. She soon became a house pet.
Sometime after January, one of my friends found your mother. She was frozen in her back yard. I took her home and buried her beside Samantha, our Cocker Spaniel. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I can’t believe I was so ignorant as to leave you unprotected.
The only way I feel I can fix things is that I give Smokey the love I would have given you if you would have lived. She’s doing just fine now, living comforably with the family. She’s grown up to be a fine young woman feline.
Your mother would have been proud of her, and
I know you would have been too.
I'll miss you. Rest in peace, Bud.
| Ash |
| 31, Oct 2001 |
| Meridee Engel |