Does everybody feel they won? As if secretly knowing they got the best, despite objective evidence or quirks to the contrary, this combination of characteristics remains unbeatable; far better than you could have ever imagined, far more intricately-unique than you could have ever conceived.

These eyes, those laughs, that smile, this love.

I do not mourn for yesterday’s version of you (it is not lost, it’s in my soul); every day grown is another engraving, and every day to come I bare an open face so you can etch upon me your uniqueness.

I do not mourn how you’ve already grown, I fear the idea of missing out on your marking, not being present for your latest impressions, or the day I run out of empty plates.

October 31, 2024 What I write of you today may not be there come tomorrow…

November 1, 2024 and when the morning came, you couldn’t leave your bed, no strength to even lift your head

so whatever I may have written feels far too late to act upon. You were our permanent little kitten, but now those words (and you) are gone.

I dim the lights when evening nears to quieten the busy air, and settle in till all is clear of dust; like death we’ve come to wear.

Recuperating in the dark - if only this would do the trick for you, to reignite your spark (for some of what you eat to stick).

It must have been so bright and loud (we tried everything in hope to heal), but we were always wowed and proud of your resilience and zeal.

And here you are, curled in my lap, a blanket draped across my knees, another poem in your cap; companion to your eulogies.

It’s quiet now. Each breath we share helps settle us of any fears, of dust-to-dust; this cross we’ll bear, and dim the lights when evening nears.

RIP to Nyx, our permanent kitten (November 1, 2024)

When there are no more better days, it’s time that we part ways.

Tougher times can be endured, but they’re fueled by joy, which slowly fades when there are no more better days.

Each intervention, we felt assured, pursued every avenue so they wouldn’t say it’s time that we part ways.

It’s hard to observe a slow decline, but there’s little left of this rose-tinted haze when there are no more better days.

This isn’t the recovery that we designed. When the pain is no longer a temporary phase, it’s time that we part ways.

For every tender moment more, there’s a price your body pays. When there are no more better days, it’s time that we part ways.

—

Our poor little Nyxie, really going through it.