This is for my sake, so if you don't want to read a teenage girl reminiscing, don't.
His name was Lucky, and he was one of my very best friends.
I believe he was sent to teach me about love and what it means to serve someone: How giving love means more than receiving it. He trusted me, and I did all in my power to not betray that trust. He was my window in the mind and heart of the Savior and his feelings toward us.
When I finally gave consent to have him put down (after he almost completely lost control of his body), I felt like part of my soul went with him and I no longer felt whole. When I thought of who I was, what made me Me, right after my belief in God, I thought of my cat Lucky. I could give a whole history of our relationship, from my third Christmas on, but that's not necessary. He lived 12.5 years. We buried him between two trees between the pond and garden. He was mine and I loved him. Goodbye, Baby. You taught me so much.
