When my grandmother died, you licked the tears off of my face. When I was sick, you curled up next to me to keep me warm. When I was sad, you were silly in order to make me laugh. I often think you jumped on my stomach to keep me thin, but I could never prove that.
I had a divine experience once, which brought me to my knees. (quite literally, actually, in front of the toilet). That didn’t scare you away, though, you just curled up next to me and purred.
You awakened a magick inside of me that I never knew I had. You gave me a sense of belonging in the universe that I desperately needed.
In the end, you suffered, yet you still tried to comfort me while I worried about you. I cried when I found out you were diabetic, but you just curled up on my chest and purred. I stressed when I needed to give you your shots, but you just purred (and sometimes tried to bite me).
One of the most terrifying moments of my life was watching your seizure that night just days after the Solstice. To see you in so much pain and not be able to do anything was devastating to me after everything you had done for me. But alas, you have moved on to a better world. A world where pizza boxes are everywhere and sadness does not exist. A world where the gods and goddesses pamper you. A world where you no longer need the insulin shots, the diabetic food and the overly concerned actions of me.
I know you are not resting in peace. I know you are chasing birds, feathers and pizza boxes. You don’t have time to rest anymore. You are too busy for that, but I miss you all the same. I love you, Azul, for now and forever.