It’s been a little over one week since I had to say goodbye to my best friend of 13 years. We got Mittens when I was 8 and my parents let me name her. I remember her crying the entire ride home and how we’d have to wrap her in a blanket when my grandfather held her because she’d snag his sweater with her claws.

As she got older, she became my roommate, always sleeping on my bed. She’d sit with me at night on the couch, and only within the last couple years did she start climbing on top of me to snuggle.

I always called her my homegirl, homeskillet, and Clap-Clap Kitty Cat (taken from an episode of Reba). She was such a good cat and never caused any trouble.

She spent some time in a sweater and most recently was in a cone of shame (she kept scratching at the side of her face). I used to make fun of her, and my mom always told me to be nice to the cat.

My final goodbye came the night before she was put down when we left her at the 24-hour veterinary hospital where they were going to put her on an IV because she wasn’t eating and do an ultrasound to see what was wrong.

I came home that day from work to my parents telling me she had pancreatic cancer and there was no way we would have known that if she didn’t go to that hospital. She would have had to go through steroids and chemo and my parents didn’t want to put her or us through that.

She came home to us last Thursday, cremated in a cedar box with a clay disk with her paw print in it. It’s nice to have her home with us again. The day my parents told me, I had my dad order a stuffed cat from Amazon that looks just like her. I carry her around the house with me and sit with her at night, because it still feels weird without her in the house.

Rest easy, homegirl. You’ll always be in my heart.