Luna

Luna wasn’t just my cat, she was my literal emotional support nightmare gremlin. She was tiny but fierce. Would knock over mugs just to stare me in the eye while she did it. Once dragged a slice of pizza off the counter and growled when I tried to take it back. Savage. But when I was down? When I was lying face-first in my bed for hours? She’d come and lay on top of me. Not beside me, on me. I swear she knew I needed weight and warmth. I don’t know how she knew but she always knew. She had these giant eyes that looked way too big for her head and she'd stare at me like, “Get up. You stink. Go shower.” And sometimes I actually would. She didn’t like other people. At all. But I always felt chosen. Like, out of everyone, I was her person. Then she got sick. Quick. One day she was purring, the next she couldn’t eat. We did everything we could. I syringe-fed her and slept on the floor with her. Then one night she just curled up next to my hoodie and didn’t move again. I held her for hours. My chest still hurts. It’s been weeks and I still think I hear her. Luna, you were chaotic and rude and perfect. I’ll never forget you. You made being alive suck less.