twosmallmonsters

Bunnycat, 1986-2006

When I think of spending nineteen years with someone or something, I think about all the mile markers that they have endured or will endure with me. Just today I was looking at Max Van Peebles and wondering who we will meet and spend time with this year and the next and thereafter, what my children (one day far far away) will think of him, where we will live after St. Paul. When I think of the last nineteen years of my life I think of starting kindergarten, Michael and nightime tin can telephone calls, Laura Ingles Wilder aspirations, Sarah and Michelle, VHS video cameras, divorce, feeling awkward like a moose, moving out and moving back in, boyfriends, migraine headheads, dreams coming true, red mini vans and skinny dipping in the parks, learning to live outside of my little world.

I think of Caramel. Bunnycat, 19, whose fur was so soft and thick just like a bunny. Who would perch on my hip when I was sick, prefered men to women, savored food like Garfield, and who I loved more than so many things in this world. Unconditionally. She was my muse when I was small- I wrote novellas about her and one teacher actually believed that I was too obsessed with my cat. I was an only child- Caramel was everything for a little girl who was afraid of being alone, upstairs in the dark. And even as I grew older, she still nestled her way onto my boniest prominence when things got scary. I believed she was the greatest thing in the world. I still do.

Caramel died tonight. I have no idea how much I will miss her. She was not only my bunnycat but a piece of my history, a constant ball of cranky fur connecting my life thread by thread. I will miss her dearly. Thank you for listening.

"No wonder she acts like she's the greatest. That's because she had a little girl who worshiped her and told her how great she was probably every day." -Candace, 2003