Snickers, my sweet

We lost this precious girl today. Snickers, nearly ten, was my companion when I had no other in grad school. She moved with me across the country and kept me company in the South until we got Scooter, and she moved with me across the country again to be part of our family in Kansas. 

She loved love, and she loved. She purred loud, continuous, like she couldn't help it. She drooled when she was happy to see you. She pawed you so you'd kiss her head. 

In these last two years in Hutchinson, she's been the happiest of her life. She got to go outside at last, now that we're settled, and she kept to the house and yard for the most part. She climbed trees. She followed Scooter and me on walks. She jumped on the back step the moment I opened the door in the morning for breakfast. She greeted the car in the driveway when I got home. She let Jack hold her, stretched, and carry her around the house. She welcomed Scooter's sniffs when she walked in the door. 

I wanted her to know the baby, and I wanted the baby to know her. She never hurt anyone, except for her claws that dug into you when she was happy and kneading. They would have loved each other. She would have welcomed the baby into the family. 

But a car in the night took her too soon. I had a bad feeling today, a feeling that something wasn't right. She wasn't at the door this morning. She didn't walk up the driveway when I was cleaning out the car. Something felt off. So when a neighbor walked up and asked if we had a tabby cat with white paws and a white chest, I knew it was because she'd found her. I could tell by her tail sticking out of the plastic bag that it was her, and all I could do was think but she's been so happy, but she's been outside for two years, but she'd just gotten her shots, but she's the healthiest she's ever been, but she got her weight down to her pre-adoption weight, but how will I tell Jack, but I just saw her last night, but she's too sweet to be hit by a car and die with noone see her and noone to know.

Phillip and I buried her in the backyard. How do you say goodbye? You look at photos of the girl in her favorite spots. You look at photos of her and Scooter, friends across species, a lesson for us all. My favorite thing was the two of them together. My favorite thing was Jack saying "Snickers, Snickers. Can I hold her?" My favorite thing was seeing her stretched out in the sun, rolling back and forth when I came up to her, and rubbing her sweet, soft belly while she drooled with happiness. Goodbye for now, Snick Snack/Lady Bear/Snicks/Snickerdoodle/Snickerlove, but we're keeping you with us for always. 

Last Sunday, the last photo of Snickers. In the arms of Jack, who loved her.