(The moment we met. I was video taping hundreds of blackbirds, singing their autumn farewell and heard a little peep behind me on the bridge…I told him if he followed me home, he could stay, but it was chilly, and he was so tiny, so I carried him bome, made a nest for him in the art room downstairs, and waited for Phillip to come home from school, hoping I could ease him into the idea of adding–at that time–a fifth cat to our household. Happily, Phillip was as quickly captivated as I had been. Forever.)
It seems our sweet Fergus has chosen this time of returning light to change worlds, so we’re setting aside almost everything else to be with this parting in our family. He found me, followed me home, made it clear he wasn’t leaving, took his profound place in our hearts, and will always rest in them.
Images don’t capture spirits, and his was sweetness and light, but with a core of steel. He’d been abandoned at birth, marked as feral and left outside his first year, which led to respiratory struggles he’s dealt with every year of his brief 10 years on Earth. He’s always felt like a fragile bird wrapped in downy fluff. He has been a brave and charming fellow who liked to rest in baskets, drawers, bags, chairs, with his siblings, and in our lives, and our letting go is all the harder for the grace and delight he’s blessed us with, and only left us craving more. We will grieve; we will adjust; we will miss him forever.
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