The house is quiet in a way I don’t quite know what to do with. My chest feels heavy. Missy, my Siamese with those bright, curious blue eyes, has crossed the Rainbow Bridge after seventeen years by my side. She wasn’t just a pet. She was company, comic relief, and a calm old soul wrapped in soft cream fur.
All day I’ve been listening for her. That talkative meow could mean anything from “feed me, please” to “time for the lap.” The light tap-tap of paws as she would wander in, tail held high like a little flag. And those eyes, peeking over my laptop as if she were proofreading, or giving me that look that said, “Still working? Nap time, human.”
READ:
My Very Own Siamese Pet Kitten
A Laptop and Lap Cat on My Lap
Missy in Real Life and in Pet Society
Work, play, relax and enjoy: Work-Life Balance
Routines were her thing. Every morning she would meow loudly outside my bedroom door, wanting to curl into her spot beside me. Missy was a small warm shadow that never failed to show up. Nothing complicated. Simple rituals seamlessly weaved together nearly two decades. Honestly, those are what I miss most right now.
I can still picture bringing her home in 2008. A tiny calm kitten who liked to lounge by my computer like she had a desk job, then sprint off to ambush Kylie, Lauren’s cat, with the intensity of a lioness. As the years rolled on, the wild play softened into a more dignified presence, still affectionate, still close.
She was quick, sharp, and oddly perceptive. She knew when I was low, pressing her head into my hand. And yes, she absolutely recognized the sound of the treat bag.
Seventeen years is a generous life for a cat, and she used every bit of it. Missy stayed constant, steady, comforting, and just being there. In her later years she slowed down, took longer naps, careful steps. But the spark never went. The purr never went. Those blue eyes still lit up the room.
Grief is a strange companion. It hurts because the love was deep. And while the sadness sits heavy, gratitude sits right beside it. I’m thankful for every ordinary day and every small ritual we shared. Missy had a good, happy life, surrounded by love and warmth. She wasn’t “like family.” She was family. The furniture holds her paw prints, yes, but so does my heart, in ink that does not fade.
Rest well, my sweet Siamese. Thank you for seventeen years of purrs, gentle wisdom, and those unforgettable eyes. You were, and always will be, deeply loved. And, yes, missed.
Missy watching her character in Pet Society in 2009
