My dear Chlo-Chlo

We lost our beloved little flopper Chloe last month and will be mourning a long time. Approaching fifteen "human years" (eighty in "cat years") she wasn't, and hadn't been, getting around as easily as she used to. She weighed next to nothing and slept twenty-two hours a day. From time to time she would surprise us by making the diagonal leap from the far corner of the couch to the ottoman and it would make me so proud I wanted to cry. To hold her was to be comforted and heartbroken.

A month or two after Steve passed away (no doubt they're lying by the heater together in cat heaven, which is much cleaner and snootier than regular pet heaven), A. and I were visiting with some (now former) friends who were planning to—it still amazes me—get rid of Chloe so they could bring in another half-retarded siamese. Chloe wouldn't have "gotten along with" it and their current siamese so them's the breaks, I guess. The… heartlessness. We weren't yet considering another cat but, while the hosts were polishing their guns or something after dinner, Chloe strolled over and flopped right onto her side, purring a purr that even Steve couldn't match in his usurper-sneak-attack moments. Not a care in the world… flop, upright, flop, upright, etc. Caring of nothing except to rub her face on the carpet. It was love.

Within seconds of leaving, before even turning off their street, we looked at each other and agreed that ours would be Chloe's new home. Whether or not I (for Steve was really my cat) was ready was immaterial: we couldn't bear the thought of her ending up in a shelter or elsewhere. The next day we reached out to those monsters and made our case, and the weekend after we hosted them and her on a trial visit. From that evening, Chloe, you were all-the-way ours. We will hear your silent meows and your rumbling purrs, marvel at your sweet tooth (!) and suffer your disregard for our thighs as you and your nails settled into our laps. We will cherish how much our daughter loved you—she always saw your spirit, even as you struggled to sit comfortably—and how much patience you had with her hugs. And we will laugh with your flopping because we know you had a sense of humor about it. Flop after flop when you were young! I will never forget.

Things changed the past few years with G. in the picture but I still included you upon entering a room and asking "How are my ladies?" I hope you felt so welcomed from when you saved me (for you did) until the end. The carrot cake was the least I could do. We miss you, Chlo-Chlo. We love you.