Dear Mickey,

It will be 12 years ago next month when I was sitting at the dining room table at my sister’s house and you suddenly appeared on my lap. Your name was Nunya (as in nunya business) and you were only about six months old. My sister and her then-fiance had brought you home to catch mice to feed to their snake. Only you weren’t doing such a great job. They said if you didn’t shape up, they were going to feed YOU to the snake. I’m still not sure they were kidding.

You settled in on my lap and went to sleep and I knew right then that you had chosen me. Maybe you sensed the pain I was in, only months after Mike died. With my sister’s permission, I took you home with me. The boys wanted to name you Mike, but I told them you were a girl and that wouldn’t do. Michelle didn’t seem right for you either, so you became Mickey.

We’ve compared you to him many times. He hunted squirrels and you loved to chase them in the yard. He hated storms and you would hunker down and head for the basement at the first rumble of thunder. He was a man of few words, but always spoke up when it was necessary. You very rarely meowed, unless we accidentally stepped on you, or you were afraid. He had the patience of a saint. You would sit in front of the door for an hour, gazing up at the doorknob, waiting for someone to notice that you wanted outside. And when I was upset, truly upset, you were upset.

There was a terrible argument one night between the boys and me, not long after we moved into this house. There was a lot of yelling and I sat on the couch and started to cry. You stunned me by hopping into my lap and meowing at me. It was so unlike you. Really, was it any reach for me to think that you and Mike might have had a connection?

I have so many vivid pictures of you in my head. Like the time when we were living in Cleveland and heading back to Toledo for the day, and we needed to make sure you were in the house before we left. We called your name and you came running, across all of the backyards of the houses along are street, hurdling fences as you came to them. You were so funny and adorable.

I won’t forget that terrible storm we had two years ago, when I came home from work to discover the power was already out and the tornado sirens were going off. I was home alone and scared, but trying not to be. When I found the flashlight had dead batteries, I felt my way through the dark basement to get replacements, and when I finally turned the light on I was startled to find you right next to me. All through that very long night of storm after storm after storm, you never left my side - even when I ventured upstairs. You stayed with me in spite of your own fear.

All of the times you would greet me when I came home from work or school. I’d see you sitting on the porch railing as I drove down the street and when I turned the corner, you’d recognize my car and meander out toward the driveway. Or the times when you’d wait IN the driveway and I couldn’t see you, so I’d have to back up and find you just sitting there. The neighbors thought that was hysterical.

I will miss watching you roll around on the driveway in the sun and the absolute delight you showed when it was finally warm enough for sandals and you had bare toes on which to rub your face. Or the way you would race people to the bathroom, then try to cajole them into turning on the faucet so you could have a drink. But the thing that I will miss the most is how, whenever I went outside, you would come from wherever you’d been and settle in next to me. You just loved hanging out with me. And I loved hanging out with you.

You weren’t terribly pleased when we brought Alex home, but you adjusted. You’d let him nudge you out of your food dish, but watch him try to set foot in the back yard when you and I were having “hang out time” and you would attack him mercilessly until he was back onto the driveway where he belonged. And let’s not forget the battle of the sunbeam real estate. Over the past couple of days, I’ve watched him willingly give up his sunbeam spot as soon as he saw you. It’s almost as though he knows that your sunbeam time is limited.

Tomorrow, I have to say goodbye to you. You are very sick and your doctor has said that we can’t cure you; we can only treat you. And Mickey, Doodlebug, Mickeydoodle, Snickerdoodle, my beautiful girl… that isn’t fair to you. You have lived a wonderful life and you have blessed all of us with your presence. I can’t bear the thought of you not being able to do the things you love, just for the sake of having you with me for a few more months. I love you too much for that, my beautiful girl.

So, my Doodlebug, it’s time to let you go. Thank you for 12 wonderful years. I’ll save your spot on the bench outside.

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