Peanut Butter Gypsy Gillette-Chanoux.

You are anxious to get outside, you ignore my demands to stop shouting at the door. I relent.

You try to cross the street, something you almost never do. You are struck by a car that continues down the street.

The old man sees this and hurries to you, unable to get the license plate. He lifts you up, but you've been savaged and your pelvis is in pieces, and you maul his arm while he sets you down on the pavement in front of his home. He frantically tries to find out who you are, and runs into one of the women who has lived above your new home. She gets me. I pick you up, and you don't even flinch when I feel your hip click under my arm. I race you to the doctor. They fill your mouth with tubes, your leg with tubes, and ease your pain.

For the next two days, all of my energy is devoted to saving you, seeing what can be done for you, being with you as your expressive and loving paw clutches my fingertip. You brighten when you see me. The trust you have had in me shows in your tired eyes. But your body is badly broken. I struggle to find a way to pay those who demand money before they begin to heal your broken bones.

I'm successful! I race you to another doctor, a specialist who can mend your limbs. But she looks at me with a solid heart and tells me that your injuries are worse than we all feared. You're anemic, you have older bone injuries, and you're flat. It amazes her that you're still alive. She asks me to make a decision.

Two years ago, you slowly started to trust me as I coaxed you toward me with food. You were starving, your fur in mats, and you needed a friend. My girlfriend then didn't approve, but I took you in, and you stayed with me long after she left and abandoned her own with us both.

You were cool when it came to snuggling, and then I told you that while Cleo is wonderful, I really needed a kitty who would do so the way Beltane Titania would. Starting the very next night, and continuing for every night after, you cuddled deeply and closely and contentedly until the break of morning. You were so expressive, and apart from wanting to be outside in good weather, never made a demand.

I waited in a room with a couch and wastebaskets filled with used tissues. My friend and his hound were with me. She brought you to me in a blue towel and rested you in my lap, just as you would be when we were at home. You immediately relaxed and rested your chin on my arm, like always. We spoke. I asked you to forgive me for breaking the promise to heal you, that I did everything possible for you, that I cherished the deep trust you had shown in me. But now it was time, and I was and am so sorry.

She filled the first syringe and connected it to the tube in your leg. You mewled and snuzzled your face into the crook of my elbow. Your fur was as soft and as warm as ever as I cradled you, held you, loved you. With your face against me in the way you loved, you passed.

I brought your limp body to my shoulder, and for a long while I believed I was still hearing your heartbeat. Days later, I still hear you talking to me from the front window or as I walk down the block.

I don't understand why this had to happen. I'm sorry. I did the utmost best that I could for you. I love you.