(Over)thoughts

You were our favorite Sullivan and the biggest dork we’ve ever known.

You fit so much dork into your tiny self.

Over and over, you managed to exceed the amount of dork we’d known and exude even more, like it was dormant, waiting to get out.

You were our Sullivan, Bub, Bubs, Bugaboo, Monkey, Monks, Dork, Booger, Trouble, Little Guy, Vin, Sully, and often a combo of some sort, like Monkey Dork, Dork Face, Dork Monkey, Monkety Monks, Booger Dork or Booger Dork Face.

And I can’t believe you’re gone.

Everywhere I look there are traces of you, places you should be – but you’re missing from all of them. And it’s too quiet.

You’d watch shows and movies with us, or chill with us when we did, and you were intrigued by cat videos but never interested in watching them twice. Once you’d seen something, you were over it.

You were trouble – knocking over our water glasses next to the bed as you tried to drink from them. We had to use toddler sippy cups or water bottles so nothing would spill, but you still had fun knocking those over just because you could.

You would find any available string, anywhere, and when you couldn’t find any, you would make some from blankets, sheets, curtains or clothes, and then eat it. It was maddening.

We couldn’t burn candles because you were so curious you would stick your face in them and singe your whiskers.

We had to install child locks on our cupboards because you would open them, push stuff aside, pull stuff out all over the floor – even breakables – and curl up for a nap.

You were a talker, and it drove Jeff crazy. You’d give us a play by play, chirping along all day – that Siamese in you who wanted to tell us everything, even telling us when you were doing something wrong, getting into things you shouldn’t, calling our attention to you. You certainly used your words, even though you had difficulty enunciating.

You loved “helping” when I changed the sheets on the bed, racing around to all corners as the top sheet slowly fell over you like a parachute.

You also loved to “help” Jeff with house projects. With the sound of a tape measure, you would suddenly appear from wherever you were and chase it repeatedly as it zipped back into itself.

We put all your toys in a box, and you would dig through until you found the one you wanted and then pull it out to play with it. Some of your favorites were the little mice and the big stuffed mouse, which you would pick up and carry around.

When you slept, you never quite looked comfortable, with your head tilted back, to the side, twisted backwards, or you were showing off your squishy kitty butt.

We taught you to walk on the treadmill, and you learned pretty quickly. Once you got used to it, we couldn’t keep you off of it. Whenever we would turn it on, you would come running to take your turn first. You’d take your walk, and then stop and roll off the back when you were done.

https://youtu.be/_-h5f9G7grM

You were so cute, fun and unique that you won over even the most cat-averse people. They would meet you and couldn’t stop themselves from liking you, forcing them to re-think their stance on cats.

You were also good with other animals, sometimes tolerating more than you should but being the peacemaker with everyone. And you and Reese were best friends.

Oftentimes, when I was upset or crying, you came to me and cuddled with me or nuzzled me. You seemed to know when I needed you.

Nuzzly Sullivan, in particular, was my favorite – even when you nuzzled my hat right off my head.

Since we first brought you home when you were a kitten, you would sleep on my head, and I gladly shared the space with you, even when you got bigger and took up more and more of my pillow. We gave you your own pillow, and you’d use it sometimes, but almost always, you’d somehow end up on mine again.

On your last morning here – a Saturday – you woke me up early, so we went downstairs and spent the time together cuddling on the couch. For a while, we both took a nap.

Then you woke up, and I put you on my chest, and you rested there for a long time. You looked into my eyes, inches away, while I told you memories of you:
     how we wanted to adopt you the second we met you at the shelter
     how we waited for you, just in case,
       when you were promised to someone else,
       who never picked you up, so we got to become your humans
     how thankful we were that God let you be part of our lives
     and how much I hoped we gave you a good life for as long as we could.

I don’t know what went on in your head, but it seemed like you were listening, like you understood at least some of it.

But you were also struggling because you could no longer make your body do basic things anymore, like even stand up. Oh, how you tried. But you just couldn’t make it happen.

We are grateful for the 17 years we had with you, but I wish we could have given you strength and even more time.

I’m so sorry, Bubs.

I’ve had lots of pets throughout my life, and there have been some great ones, but you will always be my favorite Sullivan.