Bruce

This one. This little legend. The undisputed best boy, even if his health issues prevented him from being the best at everything. And so his recently eaten breakfast often staged an unsolicited comeback on the living room rug. The sheer drama of his litter box inaccuracy prompted questions of whether he’d been an abstract expressionist in another life. His insulin management took one look at our wallets and calendars and said, “hand those over nice and slow and no one gets hurt”.

For all the complexity, frustration, and distress brought on by Bruce’s health troubles, his personality served as the opposite side of the coin: he was buoyant, loving, simply happy to be with his family. And how lucky we were to be counted as such. Our laps never stayed unoccupied for long when he was nearby. Arena-worthy meows permeated the airwaves of our home. And while Lyle frequently witnessed the boundaries of his personal space dissolve, it was not entirely to his displeasure. For such a little guy, Bruce filled the entire home. Memories of him still do.

Often, curled up blissfully after a good belly rub or chin scratch, right before drifting off into a well-earned nap, his eyes would meet mine in a look that spoke of utmost comfort, contentment, appreciation. He knew he was loved as much as he loved us, and I don’t think anything made him feel more at peace.