Junior

She was a tiny fighter from day one. Junior arrived with a bang, a medically complex, high risk kitten who’d defied the odds multiple times.

She threw a seizure event at me 24 hours after arriving. Minutes after the event ended, she tackled the bottle of formula in my hand and inhaled it with gusto. 

That was her entire life. She threw herself into everything with curiosity, a little glee, and so much enthusiasm. The only limits on her were the ones I set in an effort to keep her from breaking herself. She played hard, followed the big cats into every single adventure in the house, and made everyone around her laugh. She needed a community to help her along, and she got that. Be it amazing vets who tweaked her meds, friends who’d babysit the seizure kitten who had no limits (she loved to help people pack boxes), or fans online who’d send along new toys. 

She was fearless. She’d climb towers that were way too high, insisted on eating on the counter like the big cats, and loved to chase crinkly paper. Toilet paper was a favorite toy, and she’d follow the sound to a periodically amusing conclusion. I had to rescue her from the toilet more than once.

 She adored her “daddy” Nutsy, and never outgrew the desire to snuggle with him. Much to his dismay. As her meds got more complex, she earned the title of adventure cat. She’d accompany me on longer trips home, and turned into an excellent and loved shotgun rider. 

She was never going to have a long life, but she didn’t care. She lived with a full and open heart. On her last day, when pain medication cleared up her discomfort, we got a wonderful cuddle session before it was time to say goodbye. Like she did when she was smaller, she purred, and snuggled in, knowing she was safe. 

I promised her that if I had the chance I’d give her one more day of adventures. I gave her every adventure her heart could possibly have.

She gave me an amazing ride, and love with no conditions. 

Love you and all your glorious chaos. I miss you. Thank you for being my cat.