Once upon a time, two small siblings discovered an even smaller ball of fluff lost and mewing under the back porch. She was an abandoned kitten (far as we could tell), she wasn't going to last long on her own, and she had the benefit of showing up while the siblings' father was out of town long enough for everyone else to love the fluff prior to his return.



It's the sort of inevitable news I've been prepared for since we moved out of the house and she went to live with other, non-apartment dwelling people, but that didn't make much difference. It wouldn't hurt so much when things (and people and pets and onward) are gone if we hadn't loved them so much when they were around.