Little Black Bear

Last week my little bear Dallas passed away. He was 13 which in cat years is kind of old but not really.

Dallas came into our lives with his brother Emmett when they were about five years old. They had been shuttled around from home to home, neglected but not outright abused, and we had to teach them everything about living in a home where they weren't considered pests. Within a few looooong weeks of being in my then-boyfriend, now-husband's care they blossomed into characters that simultaneously drove us nuts and happy yet we couldn't live without them.

Just like kids.

Dallas was mine. He loved me and made special squeaks and purrs that were just. for. me.

Before baby G came along he would stretch out across my body when I was flopped out on the couch, something that he stopped doing once my belly grew with bambino and he never returned to do afterwards. That probably had to with the fact that I didn't get a chance to lie on the couch like that for years after G was born.

He would follow me around and comment on everything I was doing. He was mine and Emmett belonged to my husband. It was just meant to be that way.

Then the baby came along and everything changed.

Dallas made wide berth for the baby and me but once she became a respectful toddler who didn't always pull his tail, we settled back down into my fuzzy black bear boyfriend routine.

Emmett misses him though he hasn't directly said so.

I think Emmett isn't sure what is going on. He knows he is gone but at the same time he still searches. Death in the animal world is such a huge unknown. They get it, just ask an elephant or crow.

Don't tell me he doesn't miss him.

You would too if your brother was your only constant.

We miss you little black bear.