Letter to my (fur) son.
Bandit.
When you first came into my life through a grad school Facebook post, you were a skinny little thing. Big eyes, slim, missing patches of fur along your front chest as you had to be fed through IV due to the stress of being left by your original owner and then placed in both a shelter and foster home with tons of different animals. The foster mom wouldn’t tell me your original name (which I later found out was “Goose”, a fitting name for such a loud cat) and instead begged me to pick something new for you to signify a new point in your life. I chose Bandit at first cuz you were a sneaky little grey guy, just slinking around the house at night. That’s what I tell people anyways — I knew that there was some portion of me that knew that the reason that name spoke to me was because you would steal my heart and countless more along the way.
When they said you were given up because of your affection and neediness, I thought that had to be an exaggeration. Hilariously, it wasn’t. I’m starting to realize that this is somehow applicable across life, but somehow, your biggest flaw was your biggest charm. When people come around and meet you for the first time, they always remark on how chatty, how social, how friendly you are. I always responded with something along the lines of, “you’re just lucky you don’t have to live with him!”, but I also knew that that was a lie. Yes, sometimes I was pretty annoyed with your constant need for attention, the early morning food wake up, and your general foolishness around the various houses I’ve lived in, but you were at least MY annoyance.
Even through all that, there’s way more moments of cuteness than anything else. You are a cat after all - how could you not be. Your never-ending, easy to purr attitude has helped me through so many tough and stressful times. Hell, your purring when you were going through tough times convinces me that I can get through anything in life. Your random disdain for all human food EXCEPT bread, including the breading on fried chicken. The way you slept in between me and my partners, wanting to be the baby at the center of it all. The way you never once stopped being yourself, even through a fairly major surgery in which you had to be locked up because you wouldn’t stop moving around so much and kept breaking your stitches.
I’ve been fortunate enough to not have to face many moments of loss in my life so far, but the thing that stays with me in the times that I have is just how much different their personality and actions change. It hurts so fucking much to see you deteriorate so fast - from one moment being your usual self, to hiding under beds and couches away from everyone. You were my rock, buddy. Someone I knew I could always rely on to make me feel better, and now I can’t do the same for you. I’m sure that none of this is particularly novel for anyone, but it just feels a little different when its happening to you, you know? I really thought I was mentally prepared for you to go, but this is just nothing like I thought it would be.
Thank you, Bandit, for everything. I’ll miss your meowing and gentle vibrations throughout the day. I hope I was at least an adequate owner and brought you happiness in your second act of life. Ironically, even though you’re supposed to break through the cycles of death and rebirth, the Buddhist in me hopes that we find our way to each other again, in these lives or future lives. I love you, and I’ll never forget you.
