Eighteen years ago, this fluffy little furball wandered onto my patio and into my life. We called her "Little Girl," because she was the smallest in the litter, and we couldn't find a name that fit her any better. Once in a while, if you are very lucky (or truly blessed), you will have an animal that becomes less of a pet and more of an extension of you. Little Girl was that kind of animal.
Hands down, she was the sweetest cat that has ever owned me (I'm just being realistic here... felines humor us into thinking we own them). Her rumbly purr started the minute my hand touched her fur. She would always come nuzzle me if I was crying. I used to "fake cry," just to get the attention. If she thought I was distressed she would come running, rubbing up against me, head butting me, as if to say, "Here - pet me - I'll make you feel better." I'd run my hands through her soft fur (she felt like an angora rabbit), listen to her purr, and start to feel less tragic.
I have never had a cat that liked to be brushed as much as she did. She loved it so much, that she would do it herself, if you held the brush up for her. For a while, I thought about renaming her "Thumper", after the rabbit in Bambi. The inspiration? Just look here.
I know it's probably an insult to felines, but I used to think that Little Girl had some dog in her somewhere. She was faithful, always followed me around, and waited on the windowsill for me to come home. Eighteen years ago, Little Girl wandered into my life. On Tuesday, she slipped out of my life, but she will always remain in my heart.