Ellie

Ellie. Sweet Pea. Baby. Toothless.
We adopted you at the ripe old age of ten, knowing we wouldn’t have nearly as much time as we wanted. That only made us more determined to give you the best life we possibly could. And of course, we bent over backwards to do just that—blending your food in a dedicated blender, curating the finest napping spots, ensuring access to prime sunbeams, and caring for you through your many, many ailments.

You faced all of these trials with your signature stoicism. From your chest surgery, to your stroke, to your MRSA infection (please do let us know how that happened, by the way), you always—we’d like to think—understood that we were doing our best for you. Not for us, for you. Every day after that first surgery felt like bonus time, and honestly, that’s the best money we’ve ever spent.

In return, you gave us your calm, cuddly, slightly apathetic presence in your golden years. Everyone loved you. You were chill, patient, and kind in a way we know we’ll never see again. Because there will only ever be one Ellie.

One Ellie who demanded constant access to a heated blanket.
 One Ellie who made PJ sleep in tree pose just to provide “nook access.” 
One Ellie who always, always wanted to be with us.
 One Ellie who fully stuck her paws into PJ’s mouth to wake him up to be fed.

This house feels so empty without you. We’d give anything to hear one more of your deep, rumbly purrs, or give you just one more face scratch.

We miss you more than you could ever know.
We love you more than you could ever understand.
Rest easy, Sweet Pea.