When I met Littlefoot she was 8 weeks old, curled up on the couch with her siblings in a perfect round ball. She was the shyest of the litter, but she was the only tuxedo cat in the entire litter of tabby cats and I knew I wanted her. I took her home and she laid next to me in bed all night. I couldn’t decide on a name, so I picked out three names I liked, wrote them on a piece of paper and placed a treat on each piece of paper at an equal distance in front of her. Whichever treat she picked first would be her name, and she picked Littlefoot.

Littlefoot lived to be 15 years old, nearly to the day. She was playful, clumsy, affectionate, vocal, super soft, and forever my sweet little love. She would sit next to me when I was sewing and watch me for hours. She would wait by the door for me to come home. She followed me from room to room. She was friendly to whoever visited, gave lots of kind little licks to peoples hands, and would often try to groom my messy bed hair in the morning.

Towards the end she couldn’t see as well, jump as high, or run as fast. But that didn’t matter, we didn’t mind helping her into the bed to lay with us, I didn’t mind hand feeding her when she was sick.

But saying goodbye will hurt forever. I think it hurts so much because I loved her so much. My family loved her so much. She will always be remembered. Not a day goes by I don’t miss the sound of her purring and the softness of her fur. I love you Littlefoot.