When I was 13 years old we went to the SPCA in Dallas to choose a cat. I wanted a kitten but as I was looking in the cages one cat kept putting her arm through the holes and touching me. Over and over she did that, and even though she wasn't a kitten, I wanted her. We took her home and named her Poppy and she was my kitty.
Every night she slept with me and she followed me around the house too. We had a lot of different cats growing up, but Poppy was the best. When I got married she couldn't come with us because our apartment didn't allow pets. She stayed with my parents. And then John David was born and he is allergic to cats so even when we moved to our own house she couldn't come with us.
I wish I had a scanner to show more pictures of us with Poppy through the years. She's been a fixture in our family (along with Pudge of course).
But Poppy got old. She was deaf and couldn't get around very well anymore. She was sick and weak.
She was there.
And I was here.
And I didn't get to say goodbye.