One Year Without My Cricket

A year ago today, I lost my first furbaby.

For a year, I distanced myself from emotion. This month has been very tender for me as her anniversary approached. Time has made the loss bearable. I’m ready to process it, but it hurts. I’m quick to tears.

I miss her. I’m so grateful she came to teach and love me. I love her so much! She was the sweetest little black magicat, the funniest big fat belly cat, and a very gentle soul.

I’m not hearing crickets in the summer nightsong yet, like I did last year when she left. Strangely, that seems to be the thing that causes the most anxiety, but I know why. She’s come to me in profound and reassuring dreams. I know I can feel her, but I’m scared that will fade. If I can’t hear crickets, will I stop hearing her?

Her sister is still with me. I don’t think I could have survived losing Cricket without her. Penny is my best friend. Cricket was my baby.

“Good-bye, honey. Be very bad! I’ll never know.”

baby cricket

Her voice was never more than a squeak. At 12 hours old, she and her litter mates writhed and wriggled together like little bugs. Cricket was born.

young cricket

She was such a funny, guilelessly naughty kitten. She grew into this power! Being near her was to be enveloped in gentleness. She was peaceful. She was shy. She loved only me.

penny and crick

Pen and Crick

pen and crick 2

“Oh, Cricket! I like your big body!” She LOVED that, rolled all around and purred almost as loud as she did when she ate.

big fat belly cat



Her second trip to the ER in one weekend – this visit – was when I understood that she was ready.


We had the most beautiful, gentle passing wrapped around each other. I whispered my love to her. All I had left was, “You were a very good kitty.” It was my mantra. She purred to the end. “Sing to me in the nightsong of crickets.”

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