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Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Dear Frankie

Dear Frankie,

Today was a tough day.  Today, Daddy and I had to decide that relieving your pain was more important than the pain of your loss.  You came into our lives 17 years ago.  You were an awkward, dirty, skinny, little kitten that someone brought to the animal hospital where I worked.  They tossed you across the counter and said "kill it.  He can't even catch a squirrel."  What did he expect?  You weren't even half the size of a squirrel.  I told him we would, had him sign the paperwork, and took you home.

Probably for the first 5 years of your life I questioned that decision almost daily.  You had boundless energy, you were so smart, but you were unpredictable.  You were aggressive with our older cats.  You would fly down the hall and launch yourself teeth first into my calf.  I kept saying "I don't know if I can do this.  I don't know how to handle him."  Between the fights and the bites, there was you.  Your heart, your soul.  The way you stood on a chair and stretched that whole Maine Coon body up, begging to be picked up and wrap your big paws around me.  There was the way you loved people calling you pretty, handsome, and beautiful.  It was obvious you could tell the awe people had when they saw you.  "Scrawny kitten no more."  In those years you taught me patience.  You taught me to look harder to truly understand those we love.  Find the Frankie in everyone.  The good parts with the mischievous parts.

But that was early on, and you would grow.  You would become the top cat and no longer need to bully to be noticed.  You loved kittens, and for a burly Maine Coon boy, you were the most gentle "mother" they had.  You gave up your top cat status when those bossy girls grew up, and you sensed time was running short.  You became the elder statesmen of the house.  You paced until everyone came home from a vet visit, you waited to eat until all the cats were present.  You counted noses and verified each of their safety and ours before laying down.  You took the sunniest spots and prime lap time.  You had earned it.

You fought illnesses, broken hip, break ins, and 6 moves.  You knew your name and every nickname we gave you.  You would come and sit with us and talk as long as we said your name.  You lit up when we came home.  I wish you could have told us about lasts.  I wish you could have said, "I am sick.  This is the last time I will wake you up by slapping your face gently with my paw."  I probably would not have pushed you away like always."  I wish you could have said "I will be gone by next weekend.  Let's lay in bed with me on your chest a little longer."

I don't doubt we gave you the final gift we had to give, freedom from pain.  I just wish I had known as all the things that made you Frankie fell away, that I would never have the privilege to complain about them again.  Today is the worst part of sharing our lives with you.  If not for the pain today the joy of 17 years would not have happened.  For that Frankie, Daddy and I wish you a speedy trip to Rainbow Bridge.  I know you are once again beautiful, handsome and pretty, most importantly strong and healthy.  Say hello to all your brothers and sisters who went before you.

In closing I would just say Thank you.  I am sure you know what for.

All of our Love,

Mommy and Daddy


  1. That is such a sweet note to Frankie. He sounds like a wonderful cat and I love the way you described his interaction with your other kitties. I am sorry for your loss but it sounds like you gave him a wonderful 17 years.

    1. Thank you. He was a good boy. Amazing how attached we get.