My Chi was an incredibly beautiful kitten- she looked like a drawing of the perfect black tortie cat with red flecks all over when I first saw her perched on my mom's hand. She'd bought her at a pet store- something I'd never do, because pet stores are a bad idea. But mom saw her, and thought maybe I needed a cat. 



I was 25 and had no plans to get a pet, but within about a day we'd bonded far more than I'd ever expected I was capable of.  



Chi was not only beautiful, she was so smart. She could bat at the window shades with her paw to make them swing fast enough that she could slide behind them and get a view out the window. She tried more than once to turn a doorknob with her paws when she wanted to go out. She had a variety of meows, and I knew what they all meant. She knew many human words, like "tuna," "water," "Chi," and "kiss."  When I asked her for a kiss, she would bump me on the lips with her forehead.



She was indoor-outdoors for 10 years, but always came inside to use the litter box (even when we lived on a beach) and never strayed more than about 50 yards from our apartments.



She was with me for 17 years and five months, and lived in 11 apartments in four states. She was with me when I made not much for a living, and when I lived on the 19th floor of a Manhattan apartment building.  



I have a lot of human friends and a close family but I am not ashamed to say Chi was my best friend. 



She came down with cancer last year, and the hardest thing I've ever had to do was stick to the promise I made her when she was very young-- no surgery in her old age, no radical treatments. She stayed home with me under a vet's care until she couldn't stay at home and be comfy, and the day that she turned that corner we took a cab to his office. I held her and told her how much I loved her while they put her to sleep.



I miss her months later, and know I will for years to come. But I know she had the best life I could give her- and I know we loved each other very much. What more is there?