The drawing of a kitten was the last thing My Own saw at night. It was the first thing she saw at day break. Her father had drawn it. Somehow, he had known.
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For years, My Own reflected on the kitten with the eyes that seemed to stare back at her with love.
As her 10th year approached, he ask her what she wanted for her birthday. Steeling for the apology, My Own replied, "A kitten."
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To her surprise, he said "Yes."
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Thus it was. On her 10th birthday, My Own received a meezer. A seal-point Siamese her sister named 'Simba.'
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Eyes slightly crossed, the color of sapphire. Lovable. Silken. Very sick. A kitty with distemper; who ate a half a boiled lamb kidney for breakfast each morning as prescribed by the vet to make him strong again - a prescription that would become a life-long habit.
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A playful pouncer. A stalker and a talker. A somersaulter. A jumper. A cat who walked on a leash. A cat who once walked across a wet painting and left a trail of paw prints. A cat who napped under the blue spruce trees in a makeshift tent. The sight of which earned him the nickname "Pashe Boomsky." A hugging, 'carry me around,' cat.
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Her first cat. The cat whose fur soaked up her tears when Spotty dog died.
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The cat who would head our line of succession.
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The realization of her father's drawing. Her beloved, Simba.
Original photo by A. Szabo, digitally enhanced.
