Today we bring our Snuggles home. Up on the ridge of the hill behind our house we have laid to rest Snuggles’ brother Cuddles, our Siamese cat Suki, another cat named Tiger, a rabbit named Friendly, and, believe it not, a fish. This afternoon Snuggles will join them. My husband and I will lay him to rest. Then, when our (very busy) grandchildren can come over we will have a little memorial service, and they are going to decorate Snuggles’ grave.

So this day will have its difficulties, too, but we must go through it. I am finding the house so quiet….no little meows, no crunching of food, no movement through the house at all. I look at the loveseat and the footstool in this room, two of the places he liked to curl up and sleep, but they are empty, so agonizingly empty.

This is going to take more time than I thought. Last night was the first time I was able to sleep without crying. We have removed his food bowls, his litter box, and the things that he used. It is as if we have taken away all vestiges of his years with us.

But no, that’s not possible. He isn’t here to use those things anymore. He is, however, here, here in our hearts. I can hear his meow. I think a cat’s meow is like a baby’s cry. There are many meanings to it. Snuggles would sometimes meow gently, as if sighing. He meowed differently, and more vociferously if he wanted more food in his bowl. If it was attention he wanted he climbed right up on us or rubbed up against us, sometimes pawing us, as if saying, “Pet me, pet me.” And we did. We always did. I loved the times when he and I played our little game of Echo. He meowed, in a certain way, and I repeated that to him. Then he echoed me, and on we went. He liked it when I held my hand in front of him, and he would press his face right into it, moving in such a way that he was sure to get his nose and ears rubbed.

Nineteen years. That’s a long time for a cat to live. Our vet told us a couple years ago that a cat’s natural life is between 16-18 years, or right around there. Snuggles exceeded that. And I hope we made his life easy, fun, comfortable, and joyful.

He certainly gave us hours and hours and hours of fun, comfort, and joy. We will always remember him and all the little things about him that made him unique. One of those things was the way he could stretch himself out to full length, paws in front, looking regal as a king. I used to call him “King Cat” then.

Godspeed, Snuggles. We love you, “Mr. Cat.”