Cinder

Cinder Jade Fischer, because any cat worth the fur she sheds has a middle name.

Eighteen years. I remember so well the day they brought you home, Greg, Meagan and Dj. It had been Meagan's doing (and my undoing), taking Dj to a pet store and letting him hold kittens. In all of his nine years, he had never had that experience. (Don't judge me -- there are lots of kids around the world who have had far less.) After that, nothing would do but for the boy to have a kitten of his own.

Now I know this will come as no surprise to you, Cinder (but I hope I've fooled at least a few other people) -- I am not a Cat Lover. Oh, I admire cats for their grace and beauty, and I love how adorable they are when they play. But if I had to choose, I'd say I prefer dogs, just because you always know where you stand with a dog. A dog loves you. Period. With cats, it's not always obvious.

Then along came you, with all your cuddly cuteness, so vulnerable in your tininess, yet with that Big Kitty Attitude.

Do you remember your first day with us? We had that big old clumsy dalmatian, Baby. She was so excited, anxious to see what we were holding. We had no fears that she wanted to harm you, because her tail was wagging like...well, like Dj's would have been if he'd had one. And she had this big, stupid grin on her face (also like Dj's). But, as you were about one-tenth her size, we thought it better to keep you separated for a little while. That's how I ended up that day, sitting on the sofa in the basement, cradling you between my shoulder and my neck, while everyone else was upstairs convincing Baby (unnecessarily) that no one would ever take her place.

That was when I caved and admitted that I did like cats, maybe just a little. But it was you, Cinder. Honestly, you're the only cat I've ever truly loved. Maybe it was because of Baby, who soon became your best buddy. Maybe it's that she instilled in you all the best qualities of a dog. I mean, you would come when you were called, you never climbed the fence to leave the yard (although you certainly could have), and you would pee on command (the command being "Be a good girl,") just like Baby. When company would come, you wouldn't go all aloof and disappear, but rather, you'd stay around and be sociable.

Oh, you were loved, Cinder, by everyone who met you, but especially by the people in this family. Even me. I know that most of the time, I took you for granted, allowing everyone else to shower you with physical signs of affection, holding back until you and I were the only ones home before I would bury my face in your fur and revel in the wonderful pillowishness of you. Often, I was annoyed with you for wanting to come in when you were out and go out when you were in, and for meowing pitifully for lunch at 9:30 in the morning. I never tried to hide it. But I loved you.

I loved you for the beauty you brought to our home -- how you graced our chairs and sofa and beds with your glorious orangeness.

Mostly, I loved you for the happiness you brought us. Everyone had their own special way of loving you, of playing with you. And you were always game.

I loved you, Cinder. I just loved you, you Big Orange Cat, you. And I will miss you.