Zelda

Zelda — A big part of my little world.

I don’t really know how to put 25 years of love into words.

Zelda came into my life in 2001, and somehow, what started with a little cat became a quarter of a century together. She wasn’t just my cat. She was my little girl. She was my constant companion, my shadow, and a piece of my heart that I never imagined I would have to live without.

Zelda was… Zelda. She had a personality all her own and absolutely no problem letting you know what she did and didn’t like. She didn’t care about fancy toys. She didn’t want to be carried around. She preferred her kibble and was very particular about just about everything. But she had her own special ways of loving me.

She would sit on my neck. She would be near me. She would watch me. And she trusted me.

She was an indoor cat for essentially her entire life, and one of her favorite things was sitting at the window watching the world outside. When we had a big snowfall, I would take the screen out and open the window so I could feed the birds and squirrels. Zelda would sit there and watch them, completely fascinated. I can still picture her there.

Those are the memories I keep coming back to now.

I keep expecting to see her in her usual places. I catch myself listening for her. I think about reaching down to pet her, and then remember that she’s gone.

And God, I miss her.

I miss her terribly.

After 25 years, you don’t just lose a pet. You lose someone who has been woven into practically every part of your life. There are so many memories with Zelda that I don’t even know where one begins and another ends. She was simply there—for birthdays, holidays, good days, bad days, ordinary days. For 25 years, she was home.

Today I picked up her ashes and brought her back home.

That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but there was something comforting about bringing her through our front door again. Because that’s where she belongs.

Home.

I hope she knew how much I loved her. I hope she knew that I would have done anything for her. I hope she knew that she wasn’t just a cat who happened to live with me.

She was my little girl.

She was my world.

And even though I had 25 years with her, it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Zelda, thank you for every day. Thank you for every look, every little quirk, every quiet moment, every time you chose to be beside me. Thank you for trusting me with your life and for giving me 25 years of yours.

I don’t know what happens after we leave this world. But I hope that wherever you are, you’re comfortable, you’re happy, and somehow you know that your daddy loves you and misses you more than words could ever say.

You’re home now, sweetheart.

And you always will be.

Robert.T