Charlie fit in the palm of my hand. The woman at the pet store told me he was the runt of the litter. I should have known better. I've had cats all my life. Eight week old kittens do not fit in the palm of your hand.

I bought him. I had to. I know it's better to adopt but Charlie looked up at me, big eyes in his tiny kitty head, and I just wanted to take care of him. He was a black and gray tabby. The sweetest little thing I'd ever seen. It was love at first sight.

The day after I brought him home, I came down with the chicken pox. I was an adult. I was never so sick in my life. My husband couldn't understand why the cat was pooping everywhere and not using the little box.

We brought him to the vet and they said, "This little guy is, at best, three weeks old. What have you been feeding him?" He was so small they couldn't even take his temperature.

I was horrified when my husband told me what the vet said. The vet suggested we take him back to wherever we got him from. I was home, trying not to scratch and trying to take care of two sick kids! My husband took Charlie back to the pet store.

Now, I was furious. I wanted my cat back and called the store. I told them they shouldn't resell him. I wanted him and when I got better I'd be over to pick him up.

And that's exactly what I did. When I was no longer contagious, I went and got Charlie back. Poor little guy. Some kid was holding him and I was like, "Hey! Put my cat down!"
They must have thought I was a lunatic. I had chicken pox marks all over me and I was one cranky person.

Charlie was the sweetest cat I'd ever owned. And I've had many cats. He loved hair and would curl up in mine and lick it. He also liked feet. He'd lick your toes and then, bite you a little. His favorite trick was to jump from the floor to the shoulder of my six-foot tall husband. Our other cat, Charlotte hated him. She'd beat him up daily.

The best thing about Charlie was he just loved everyone. No matter what happened to him, he loved the world. He'd sit on my lap all the time. He'd rest his head on my hand while I was typing.

He and Charlotte ended up having a litter of kittens. Oh, my! He was so funny. He got right in there and nursed with the babies because he never had that. And Charlotte was good about it. She didn't beat him up anymore. They were the cutest kitty couple of all time. He was very protective of those kittens, too. We had overnight guests about three weeks after they were born and he hissed at them when they got too close to his babies. He'd never hissed before. We didn't even know he knew how.

We found homes for all the kittens but one and moved across the country. In the new house, Charlie, for some odd reason, wanted to get outside. All our cats are inside cats. He would just try every way he knew how to get outside.

One night, I still do not know how, he opened the door to the garage. I had forgotten to close the actual garage door to the outside. And I never saw him again. I went looking in the morning, crossing over the Amish farmer's land, calling him and crying. He never showed up. As odd as it is, I still miss him. It's been about six years since he went missing.

We still have Charlotte and now, we have Angus, who reminds me of Charlie. But no cat will ever replace my sweet Charlie. I hope with all my heart he moved into the Amish farmer's barn and made friends with the horses. Well, that's what I keep telling myself happened because I can't even think that something bad happened to him.

I still miss you, Charlie.

Learn more about this author, Kat Apf.
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