Short-haired white cat with grayish-brown coloring along the ears and back sitting in what appears to be a wooden box with front legs hanging off the side, looking to the right.

I remember that first day. My partner, now my wife, and I thought her cat, Knucklehead, needed a friend so we decided to go to the Humane Society...

You were one of the few that clearly stood out. They cleverly named you Snowshoe – you were mostly white – but you were smarter than your cutesy name suggested. You were one of the few who seemed interested enough to rouse from their malaise as prospective new parents perused the potential adoptees. I remember you stuck your foot into your water bowl before drinking – obviously some kind of ingenious feline test for the purity of your sustenance – and I said to my partner something to the effect of, “Look, this one does tricks.” You and I took to each other immediately and you crawled up into my lap though it was obvious you didn’t care for such theatrics. But, you probably figured you should go through the motions for my benefit. I appreciate that. We took you to your new home.

As it turned out, Knucklehead thought bringing a ‘friend’ into his house was a very bad idea and we were scorned for not having consulted him on the matter. But the bond between you and I had already been forged during your quarantine in the bathroom when I came to spend long stretches of time with you. Eventually, you were released from your confines and went on to be a real jerk to Knucklehead, but perhaps you were upset we hadn’t bestowed a fitting title upon you yet.

Renaming you, and establishing who you really were, took almost two weeks. Nothing seemed to fit as we had to operate within the confines of the first letter of your name beginning with an ‘N’ (or a silent ‘K’). Taking your personality into account, being prissy which by the way you had the good sense to hide from us the first few days – I hit the nail on the head with ‘Niles,’ after Niles Crane, Frasier’s brother on the classic television sitcom, Frasier.

From day one we were together so often my wife would always tell people you were a daddy's boy. You always sat with me for pettings during TV, and played our favorite games when you did want to play (claw and chew on my arm mostly and your favorite sport, Battlestick), and you were always there to yell at me to calm down when I was angry about something meaningless. And how often did we nap together? I could barely sleep without you. (Well, I could barely sleep with you there, too, especially when you were having your little nightmares). The funniest thing about you is that you rarely acted like a cat – you didn’t like boxes much, hardly cared about birds, and got bored of toys really fast. I feel bad for not being more entertaining, sir.

As you approached the end, I knew it and thought we should have ended your suffering sooner. I’m sorry we didn’t do that. But thank you for fighting as long as you did, for having the strength to get you to the place when I finally saw that look in your eye that said you couldn’t take anymore. You were stronger than I could ever be both figuratively and literally. (Remember when the vet in Hawaii said you had legs like a football player?)

I love you and I will always love you. When my own time comes, when the end whispers me away I will be thankful because I will return to the universe whence you came and are now and I can be there with you in a new way. It is times like this that I am grateful that everything is connected; I will always be connected to you one way or another. Because of that, I can't ever say goodbye to you. As long as I live - and thereafter - you will live, we will live, forever and ever, amen.