I don’t know if I will ever again live with or love somebody, other than the somebodys that have always been my cats. And you know, even though any person you love & live with has their weirdnesses, as I have mine… even though there are frustrations, & stuff you gotta put up with — you love them just the same. You love them, & you miss them when they’re gone, the frustrating stuff as much as the wonderful stuff that you can get nowhere else. And now that it’s gone… well, it’s good to cry about it like I do. That I cry, that the loss makes me sad, that I feel something not nothing, for something that will always mean so much to me in the loss of it, as it was in the finding of it.