Don’t you dare wait.

I want to talk to you about a few things now because I don’t think we have too many more days to have conversations with each other. I want to thank you for being one of my best friends. I want to tell you that you are without doubt the best cat in the universe. And I want to tell you, just in case I’m wrong in my beliefs: Don’t you dare wait for me.

I have never forgotten the exuberance you showed when I first met you. There was nothing that wasn’t a toy, nothing not worth chasing, nothing not worth investigating. (By the way, the Professor told me just this week that he’s finally forgiven you about that whole ruined Lenin banner incident.) You were bold – my one-kitten Itty Bitty Kitty Greeting Committee. George hid under the bed. Jutta was aloof. You loved people.

I haven’t forgotten how you crawled onto the bed while I was recovering from transplant surgery. My doctors would have been furious, but they didn’t understand that soft fur and a purr trumps any pain medication in the world. Your warmth by my side pulled me through some of the roughest days of my life.

I haven’t forgotten how you chittered at birds through the window and made me laugh. I haven’t forgotten how you couldn’t figure out how to get to the mouse toy under the glass table and made me laugh. I haven’t forgotten how you used to fetch the Spring Tailed Mouse Toy by the pom-pom on its tail and make me laugh. I haven’t forgotten your fascination with the Butt-Ugly-Foam-Mushroom toy, making me cringe and laugh simultaneously. I will never forget the uncountable things that made you an individual, with personality and patience.

I do not believe in an afterlife. I wince at Rainbow Bridge; it reminds me too much of unicorns, cotton candy and all things fairy tale. And even if I did buy into the Christian belief system, canon doesn’t make room for pets in heaven. Apparently that version of God is against most of His creation obtaining immortality. But if I’m wrong, or if there is another avenue that will grant you continuation beyond the impending termination, I don’t want you sitting around some mystical portal waiting for me to emerge. You’ve earned your own life, and you need to be free to pursue whatever you find makes you happiest.

You’ve earned a life without pancreatitis and hepatitis and inflammatory bowel. You’ve earned a life without diabetes. You’ve earned a life without lymphoma. You’ve earned a life where you will never become so immunosuppressed that you have to worry about demodex and ringworm and yeast. You’ve earned a life without twice-a-day pills and liquids and shots

So don’t you dare wait for me. On the off chance that I’m actually granted admission to a next life some day, I will be disappointed if I find your ghost sitting there patiently next to my gravestone waiting for me to show up. You did enough of that while sitting by the garage door waiting for me to come back home after work. I expect you to run off and play and lie in the sun and find kibble and canned food with gravy (the kind I never let you have) and be good to yourself. If I ever find you again I want to meet as equals. You’ve already proved yourself just that.

I love you, Selkie.