A Blue Box in the Basement and a Cup of Coffee : Dear Loki, From Your Human...

Dear Loki,

Hi. It's me.
At the end of things, for some reason it seems timely to go back to the beginning. So here we go.

Honestly the thought of getting another cat wasn't as happy a feeling as it should have been, so soon after my dear Mulligan left the building. I didn't happen to be in a very cheerful state of mind to begin with.

Mom and I walked in surrounded by fluffy-frue-frue-kittens, performing their normal fluffy-frue-frue-kittenish routines. Stumbling around on tiny, stubby little kitten legs, squeaking their high pitched mews, snuggle each other, etc.
Not you.

You weren't a fluffy-frue-frue-good feeling kitten. You were skinny and gray, with green eyes too big for your triangle face. When I walked in, it was as if something inside of you snapped. You screamed at me. I'm not sure how many people have been screamed at by a cat. It was as if you were on a caffeine high. As if your life was at stake. And it might have been. You banged your head against the gate, reached through the bars as far as your skinny little teen-aged-kitten arms could extend, your toes separated. The innocent kitten below your cage mewed at me, and you reached under and smacked him in the face with your paw.
And I fell helplessly in love with you.

But Mom and I considered another kitten before you. Sorry to hurt your feelings, but to put quite frankly, he was much cuter then you. I watched the personality-less ball of kitten stumble aimlessly about the room. I watched him with equal blankness. And I could still hear you screaming form the other room.

It broke me.

I asked if we could check you out. Mom mentioned your being a little older then what she was hoping for, but agreed. You were freed from your cage. It was like the scene in West Side Story when the two love interests see each other. Only more hyper, and we didn't start singing.
Mom was on the phone in the other room.
Mom: "Yes, I think we found a kitten. She's a little fluffy white kitten..."
*Mom looks through the window at me and you, clinging to each other and staring at her wide eyed.*
Mom: "...Okay never mind I think we're getting a different one..."

The next day we took you home.
We named you Loki.

Me and Loki's Band Photo

You got settled in. Ate food. You grew large and squishy. You became so calm and chill that we started calling you 'Low-key'. (Pun intended) We could dance with you about the house, carrying you like a baby and spinning you around, and you wouldn't care. You'd just stare at us with half closed eyes, blinking slowly. Your silence spoke all the sarcasm for you.
Then we brought your little punk brat baby brother home.

Wallace (The Flame/Wonder Boy)

Loki: "Really?"

Loki Pretending Not to Enjoy This

God has funny methods of answering one's prayers. God gave me you to help drag me from my emotional, nightmare-ish like state. You were there for me. Like a friend. Can cat's be friends? Maybe for Disney princesses. Or over emotional little girls in the basement.

Thank you for helping me feel less lonely. Thank you for being my little friend. Thank you for letting me hug you like a teddy bear throughout the night and talk to you like a journal. Thank you for loving bubbles so much. I kept a container of bubbles by my bed just for you, just because I loved seeing you catch them.

I remember our last conversation. You had been getting outside more. We couldn't keep you inside. At this time in the day, you laid in your favorite spot on your tower, the highest point, and I came up to you and gave you hugs and kisses, stroking your now dusty, gritty fur. As I pet you I realized you had gotten much skinnier. It almost made me sad. Then I just stood there. Petting you and talking to you for a long time. I asked you why you had to like the out doors so much. I told you how much I loved you, how much I needed you, and that we made a pretty great team.

Then you disappeared. I felt sick. Wallace wondered about the house with me, mewing, rubbing against my feet where ever I went. I know he can seem like a heartless little punk, but you know he loves you.
After having to say goodbye to some very dear friends, I returned home to find out I had yet another friend I had to say goodbye to. You were killed. My family found you and buried you while I was gone.

I still think I didn't get enough time with you. It was too short. I'm wrong. It was perfect. God gave us the perfect time. And he even let us say good bye to each other. I couldn't ask for more.
I went to your grave this evening, in the back the forest. It's summer now, which is perfect because I got to pick you some flowers on the way. I sang a few parting songs. And blew bubbles for you.

Loki, you're beautiful and perfect, and love you so much.