Grief for animals is pure. We can’t complicate, overthink, or deny it. The tears come easy and dry when they’re done. All I have to do is think of Percy letting me load him into a carrier for a trip to God knows where, uncomplaining, because he trusted me. Or the way he’d put both his arms — do cats have arms? — around my neck and breathe into my ear all night. Or how much he loved tuna water.
There will only ever be one Percy:
But I think soon I will have space for someone else:
He’s blurry because he never stops moving. All I know is that last month he was found tottering the streets during a thunderstorm, a 3-week-old purebred (?) Siamese saying eeeeeeee.
He needs a name.
I bet Percy would’ve liked him.