This is my cat Biggie. As I write this, he is dying. My wife is holding him while the rest of us sit and cry. He was a good cat, no doubt about that. He even brought us a mouse that had dared to invade the home. He was patient enough to let my daughter dress him as a princess. He guarded my wife whenever she had to use the bathroom, pushing the door open when he could to make sure she was doing it right.
I need to think about these things because losing him is ripping me apart. He was actually my cat before my wife moved into the house. When I got him from the shelter, he wasn’t much bigger than my computer mouse, all hair and wide eyes. I had another cat named Elphaba so I named him Fiero. As he grew rapidly, I joked and called him Biggie and the name stuck. It wasn’t long before he was twice the size of his older sister.
I have to keep stopping to allow a few minutes to cry. I’m not ashamed I am one of those people that think of pets as family members. Makes me wonder where the humanity is in the people that would see him as “just a cat”. Anyway, I wanted you all to know who Biggie was and what he meant to me.