I need to tell you the story of how you came to be my Meiga. I was 54 when you packed your things and moved in with me, and you are my first cat. I had wanted one since I was a four-year-old child, but first my parents, and then my spouse, did not share my longing. You found yourself being rehomed at age three because your humans were having a baby and felt they couldn’t care for you. The night they brought you to me, you cowered in your new room while your humans bid you farewell. Crystal cried and told you to be good, and Dan quietly said to me, “take good care of her.” Sitting with you in the darkened room, comforting you, I felt the instant lovesmack that happens a few times in life, if we’re lucky. During my “caternity leave” from work, I stayed as close by as you’d let me, learning your routines and rhythms. Four years later my heart still beats faster when I near the door, knowing you are waiting on the other side. You, dear kitty, changed my life with those mesmerizing green eyes. Look into mine. See how beloved you are.