Dear Friends and loved ones,
We gather today to remember the life of my brother Roscoe on this, his thirteenth birthday. We were born on a cool fall day at a farm in northern Indiana. Roscoe was runt of the liter; small, sickly and in need of extra attention.
I saw to it from the start that I would always be there to watch over him, protect him, play with him, cuddle him, and love him.
Though there were other kittens in the litter, Roscoe and I shared an extra bond. Where ever one went, the other was sure to follow. The woman who owned us recognized this right away and tried desperately to find a home that would take us both. But that autumn no one seemed interested in two kittens. One by one, our brothers and sisters left for their new homes, until it was just Roscoe and I left. Though our human had only hoped for one kitten that Christmas, she got two.
Roscoe and I were inseparable from the start. In the (almost) thirteen years we were together, we were never separated. Not once. We ate together, slept together, played together, got into trouble together and even fought together.
On cold winter days, you could always find us snuggled up together in front of the radiator. Without Roscoe, this winter will surly be a cold one.
Roscoe and I had very different personalities from the start. He always acted like a fun, loving kitten (even when he was old) who was always interested in playing, greeting guests, and meowing at the top of his lungs. I, on the other hand, have always been more like a cat; even when I was a kitten. It takes me a while to warm up to people, I am always cautious, quiet, and I HATE it when strangers come to our home.
I always thought that Roscoe was lucky to have me. I was the one who kept him safe. I was the cautious voice of reason who kept us out of trouble. But now I understand just how wrong I was. I was the lucky one. It was Roscoe who taught me to think young, have fun and enjoy the most out of every day.
There are no words to tell you how much I miss my brother. I call out to him late at night, meowing into a darkness that never answers back. I sometimes forget that he is gone and find myself checking the closets where he liked to curl up for naps. Life will go on without Roscoe, but I assure you mine will NEVER be the same.
These past two weeks our human have noticed a difference in my personality. I am starting to talk much more and I have become more playful. Every once in a while, she catches me pouncing on my toy mice; something I haven't done much in recent years. I do this for Roscoe. Every time I walk into a room talking, every time I pounce on a toy or chase our human's shoe laces it is like a part of Roscoe is still alive in our home. I will honor and remember him by keeping our home a fun place to live.