Sweet baby girl, it's been five months since we had to let go of your physical form. The absence of your presence is still a source of heartache for us. You should be there on the couch in your cat bed, keeping an eye on us, or sleeping between us at night, or snuggled onto one of our shoulders, cheek to cheek.

We know many people will not understand the loss, and might think, "It was only a cat. It was only a dog," but the truth is, you were simply one of us, as integral to the family as any human.

Some day I'll take your cremation medallion and wear it on a chain around my neck, but it's still too soon. We have more processing to do and it'll happen in its own good time.

You wanted a large photograph of yourself, "bigger than Miss Kitty's photo on the fridge," and you have it on the top shelf in the living room.

Sometimes, at night, I feel the light kitty-cat steps on the outside of the covers--too light to be those of your sister Panthor--and I figure it's you, coming for a quick visit. I know you are never far away, and will always be in our hearts.

We love you muchly, mom and dad.