◢◤ ELYTJE ◢◤ They asked me why I still speak to an empty room. I told them: the room isn’t empty. It’s alive with sixteen years of echoes, pawsteps, and soft breaths that refuse to fade. You were three weeks old when you chose me. A tiny ball of fur, eyes too big for your face, reaching your paw through the shelter cage as if to say: “You. You’re mine now.” And I was. Every single day. For sixteen years, four months, and thirteen days. But who’s counting? (I am. I count every heartbeat we shared. And every heartbeat I wish I still could.) The vet said it was time. That your pain had become heavier than your purrs. That letting go was kindness. But kindness should never feel like betrayal. I held you as you slipped between worlds. Your eyes met mine one last time, and in that instant — I swear — you forgave me. For not being infinite. For not being a god. For being just human, forced to make a choice that shattered me. The house still carries your scent. Your blanket is still on the couch. I washed it once. Regretted it instantly. I need proof you were real. Because sometimes I wake up and forget just for a heartbeat that you’re gone. And then it hits me. Like the first moment all over again. They say, “It was just a cat.” Just. As if that word could contain: Every 3 AM cuddle when silence felt too loud. Every laptop siege because attention was non-negotiable. Every slow blink that said “I love you” in a language older than words. Every headbutt. Every purr. Every moment you existed. You weren’t “just a cat.” You were my constant in a world that never stopped spinning. You were proof that unconditional love is real. You were the reason I came home. The world kept moving after you left. The sun still rose. Bills still came. Life continued as if nothing had happened. But something did happen. My heart cracked open in a way no patch can fix. And people say, “Get another cat.” As if love is something replaceable. As if you were a placeholder. Maybe one day there will be others. But there will never be another Elytje. I dream about you sometimes. In those dreams, you’re young again light on your paws, eyes full of mischief. And when I wake, I lose you all over again. But I don’t want to stop dreaming. Because dreams are the only place where forever still exists. Sixteen years. Some people don’t keep friends that long. Some marriages don’t survive that long. But you were there. Through every version of me. Through apartments, jobs, heartbreaks, celebrations. And you loved each one of me like no time had passed. I used to think I saved you that day in the shelter. But truthfully you saved me. From loneliness. From forgetting how to love without walls. From a life that would have been colder, quieter, emptier, without you. The last thing you heard was my voice, whispering that it was okay to go, that you were loved, that I’d be fine. I lied. I’m not fine. But I will be. Because you taught me resilience wrapped in purrs. You survived three weeks alone before I found you. You survived sickness, moves, chaos. You lived with grace. You left with dignity. So I’ll survive this. Not because I want to, but because you’d expect nothing less. ◢◤ For Elytje ◢◤ “They say grief is love with nowhere to go. So I’ll channel it into remembering. Into honoring the life you shared with me, by living the one you left behind.” Wait for me at the Rainbow Bridge, old friend. I’ll find you. I’ll know your eyes anywhere. And this time… we’ll never say goodbye again. ◢◤ Sixteen years wasn’t enough. Eternity wouldn’t have been. ◢◤ 127.0.0.1 – Home is where you wait for me. 🐾💚🌌 Written by Localhost