He was, of course, my fault. Every animal we’ve ever had, except for Honey the pit/lab and Winston the tabby kitten, has been my fault. I am a sucker, I guess. Mittens is our beautiful Tuxedo kitty, and he’s not doing well. He’s seventeen and has a respiratory problem we can’t seem to shake or ameliorate, and now his fur is in disarray, a sure sign that he’s not feeling well. He’s not necessarily the favorite cat in my life—he’s a bit standoffish, now, not feeling well, he turns to me for pets—but he’s one of the most beautiful.

We decided, seventeen years ago, to go look at the Humane Society of Santa Maria’s kitten adoption day. It was a moment of sheer abandon, of course. We went into the pet store and found the stack of metal cages in which the hopeful kittens were waiting. It was Mittens who immediately rushed to the front of the cage and began poking his nose out the grill and purring. The gray tabby in the same cage stayed in the shadows, in the rear. So it was Mittens who won us over.

Then the Humane Society volunteer casually (maybe not) informed us that the gray tabby was the tuxedo’s brother.

I shrugged. (“Oh, what the heck,” I was thinking.) So we brought them both home and they became Mittens and Pickles. Mr. “Pick me!” turned out to have an independent streak while his gray brother was very affectionate. We lost Pickles a few years ago to cancer and that was a hard experience, nearly as hard as losing my first Basset Hound, Wilson.

And now Mittens has gone out to scout the territory ahead where I will someday live. I’m not being maudlin here—just realistic—and I hope that I can be as dignified as he is and, like him, unafraid to reach out for comfort.

Thank you, Mittens, my friend.

* * *

Mittens crossed over the Rainbow Bridge on December 2, 2024.