In a few hours, it will have been one full year.

It still hurts to see pictures of you. It still hurts to think about what I could have done differently, what I could have tried, what I should have known. The curse of hindsight.

There is another cat who now uses your beds and blankets and toys. She is young, younger than you when I took you home with me. She's nothing like you, not gentle and soft and quiet, but she is just as loving.

I think I got her too soon. It was a spur decision, its exciting newness mistaken for emotional readiness. I did, thankfully, have the foresight to get a different breed. I was and remain too scared of attempting to replace you, when that's an impossible task. The void of you remains.

I hope you know how sorry I am, that I failed you. I wish so much that I could have done more.

That final night, at about this very moment in time one year ago, you mustered the strength to stand and wobble over to me and rub against my leg. You loved me and I hope you know I loved you, how much you were loved, and how much you are missed.

It will soon be one year. I fear its arrival; I plead for its departure.

When do the tears stop, Baby Fluff? When does the guilt and grief dissipate?

Please know you remain loved, that you are irreplaceable, that I could not forget you even if I tried.