- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #62
This will be my last post in this thread, unless, by some miracle, my little Kîa is alive, somewhere out there.
Looking back,Still sometimes it's hard to believe it's been so long. Two years! At times, it seems only yesterday she was here, chasing Nimrod, curled up on the bed, or perched high in her tree in the sitting-room, watching the world like a little queen surveying her domain. And yet at others, it seems a lifetime.
Rîna and Tällia will be two in mid-May, and at last, Nimrod seems truly to be thriving again, and happy once more. I wonder sometimes whether he remembers the wild, kindly sister who used to watch over him and protect him with such gentle patience, and lead him home if he was lost: the games and chases, and her insistence she always be first for a drink at the laundry tap; the night she shrieked and screamed the place down at two in the morning, because he wasn't well, and had had an accident beside the litter tray.
Still, sometimes, he seems to recall; he will go to the bed they shared when they were kittens, and cry softly for attention. Is there something? Some deep-seated memory of the sister and friend who is gone? I suppose I may never know.
Run free, Kîa, my little huntress, wherever you may be; purr, and play, and wait safe in the knowledge that you are remembered. And know that, though it may take a lifetime, we will find you again, and you will come home. Rest, my little one. I shan't forget.
Looking back,Still sometimes it's hard to believe it's been so long. Two years! At times, it seems only yesterday she was here, chasing Nimrod, curled up on the bed, or perched high in her tree in the sitting-room, watching the world like a little queen surveying her domain. And yet at others, it seems a lifetime.
Rîna and Tällia will be two in mid-May, and at last, Nimrod seems truly to be thriving again, and happy once more. I wonder sometimes whether he remembers the wild, kindly sister who used to watch over him and protect him with such gentle patience, and lead him home if he was lost: the games and chases, and her insistence she always be first for a drink at the laundry tap; the night she shrieked and screamed the place down at two in the morning, because he wasn't well, and had had an accident beside the litter tray.
Still, sometimes, he seems to recall; he will go to the bed they shared when they were kittens, and cry softly for attention. Is there something? Some deep-seated memory of the sister and friend who is gone? I suppose I may never know.
Run free, Kîa, my little huntress, wherever you may be; purr, and play, and wait safe in the knowledge that you are remembered. And know that, though it may take a lifetime, we will find you again, and you will come home. Rest, my little one. I shan't forget.
