Bubble No. 22: Sput

I know I promised that the next five entries would be Brandenburg, but a moment of mourning must be observed. My boyfriend’s family has been practically my family for the last four years, nearly five. In that time, I’ve come to love their pets as my own. One, especially, I thought of as my baby cat. Sput was the greatest comfort for irritated nerves and anxiety I’ve ever known, and the best reading buddy I could have hoped for. He was cuddly when I took a nap, purred like a rusty motorboat with the right scratching, and just generally all around adorable in every way.

Sput began getting ill on Friday night, and while we were desperately hoping he would make it, his condition continued downhill. We made him comfortable and constantly let him know that he wasn’t alone, and that we loved him. Sput died early this morning, passing away peacefully, as I’d been praying he’d go if he had to. He was eight years old, and will be sorely missed. My mother-in-law and her husband buried him behind the garden statue of Ganesha, so if nothing else, he’s been buried in sacred space. The 40 day count for his soul begins today, and we hope to find him reincarnated somewhere. Even if we don’t find him, I want him to have a good, loving life. He was such a quiet cat, and asked for so little. He was a bit timid, but could whale the hell out of any piece of string you dared shake at him. I’ll be putting up my traditional memorial page later today for him. (I’m getting really tired of having to make these.)

Soft grey fur touches

Not just flesh, but heart as well

Sweet little grey cat