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Farewell, My Friend

An Obituary for Blossom

By Iris HarrisPublished 2 months ago 4 min read
Blossom saying hello!

School had just begun. As I watched the student depart from the classroom after a full day of teaching, my colleague entered my classroom.

“Hey, do you like cats?” She asked. I was still new to the school, but she was one of my mentor teachers.

“Yes, I do. Why?”

“My neighbor’s cat just had kittens and if you would like, you are more than welcome to take one.”

“Sure, I’ll take one,” I replied, remembering having a pet cat I loved during my high school years. Despite the fact I was renting an apartment with a no pet policy, I still adopted the kitten.

My colleague arrived at school the next day with a box, and my new best friend waiting inside. I peeked to see what she looked like. She was tiny. Her fur was a mixture of brown, black, and gray. She refused to move. Timid. Shaking. Unsure of the world around her. The students who hung around after school saw her and asked what her name will be. Admittedly, I was a fan of the Powerpuff Girls and thought what name I could give her. As I opened the box, she stirred and looked up at me. Blossoming with love.

“Blossom. Her name will be Blossom.”

“That’s a good name. She seemed to blossom up when she saw you.” The line finalized my decision.

I took her home and after a few days, she became acquainted with her new surroundings. One night, she escaped through the apartment door. I panicked. What type of parent leaves the door open and loses their fur baby? I spent hours looking for her, but was unable to find her through the shadows of the night. Her dark fur blended too well and even after calling her name, I was unable to locate her. I decided to leave the door open for her, hoping she would return on her own. Before slumber took over me, she found her way back into the house. Relief washed over me as I showered her with love for returning.

Of course, I had bought her toys that she often neglected and occasionally, she would be affectionate with me. However, she rarely slept with me, unlike my previous fur child. Instead, she took a more destructive approach. She climbed my curtains; scratched the couch, and other feline shenanigans. I considered having her declawed, but one of my friends shared the torturous procedure. I was not willing to put her through the pain of being declawed and opted to purchase scratching posts. She eventually turned to those for sharpening her claws.

When she reached the six-month mark, I took her in for her shots. The vet informed me she had feline AIDS after conducting the routine examination and tests. “I know it is uncommon, but if you keep her indoors and away from other cats, she will live a good, healthy life.”

“Well that’s good. I really have no plans of having her be an outdoor cat,” I replied. And I stayed true to my word. I kept her inside.

Finding comfort in a shoe box

Recently, Blossom passed away. It has been really difficult watching my furry baby, who has been with me my whole teaching career, slowly wither away. She started with unusual meowing, which I didn’t think much about. I thought she just wanted my attention. Actually, she probably did. Then, she became much more affectionate than usual, always jumping on my lap when I was writing and following me around the apartment. She would wait in the bathroom for me. Crawl into bed with me. It was the first time she was consistent about being around me. Finally, she just stopped eating. I knew that was the signal of all signals. Her age, plus lack of interest in eating regardless of what food was laid out for her, was the definite sign her time with me was coming to an end.

I thought long and hard about what to do with her. Most people would euthanize the furry child. Honestly, I could not bring myself to just end our time together that quickly. I wanted to savor every last moment with her. To hold her and love her, as I always will, reflecting on all the great times we shared. If I wasn’t renting a unit on a farm, perhaps I would have made a different choice, but seeing a lush green field every time I open the door, I knew she would want to be left there. It would be the perfect resting place for my little love, who often peered out the windows. It would be my final gift to her, to set her free to roam the lands she could not.

During our time together, Blossom has survived three major moves. Two out of the four units I rented with her had a no pet policy, and I was almost evicted from one unit for having her. I will always cherish playing laser beam tag with her and having her chase after me while I had a UBS cord. For some strange reason, she loved to play with cords. All. The. Time. Occasionally, I would watch her get high on catnip and the effects it had on her. I will miss her purrs and her scratches when we took playing just a little too far. I will also miss moments when she took it upon herself to fend off mice and geckos (the only creatures she could combat without losing a battle). It was funny hearing her growl and hiss at the stays that came to the door to say, “hi!” She was definitely a grouch old kitty. As with any pet owner, I will miss having her to come home to. Seeing her wait for me by either the window or the door with the, hey, where’s dinner? expression on her furry face. She will always be in my heart as the longest pet I have ever had. Rest in Love, Blossom. Enjoy your new adventure.

During her final days, I took her outside and let her walk around when she could.


About the Creator

Iris Harris

An aspiring novelist. I enjoy writing ghost, horror, and drama. Occassionally, I dabble with some essays. You can find more of my work with the link below:

Learn more about me

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