No Dolly… but a little grey cat

Today, write about a loss. The twist: make this the first post in a three-post series.

Once I felt I was unpacked, and a pathway to my bed had been made through all my junk, I stumbled across a small cardboard box. It had been pushed into a corner and forgotten. Tiredness had begun to creep up on me, in gradual yawns and aches. The day had been long and filled with change. I only noticed as I pulled the curtains shut that the sun had set, had gone down hours ago.

Peeling back the brown tape, I felt a wave of confusion sweep over me; though it was mixed with the feeling of receiving a gift, as I had no remembrance of the contents of the peculiar box. There, at the top was the little toy cat, with its grey and white fur and tiny pink nose. Guiltily, I plucked her out of the box and stroked the soft fur. How could I forget you? 

My best friend had bought her for me years ago. I remembered her smile as sunny as her golden hair and her contagious laugh. Almost instantly, I was transported back to her garden and we were six again. Giggling on her swing set, bare feet tickled by the dry grass. She told me as if I didn’t already know-as if she hadn’t told me a thousand times before-that she wanted to be a vet. And I told her that unfortunately I’d given up my dream of becoming a pop star. Then we smiled for the photo that I’d keep for years and years.

I thought as I looked at the dark glass eyes shining at me. I had never given this poor little cat a name. I shall call you Megan, and I’ll never forget you again. 

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