You had a million names to us, all because your fur spanned twice your actual size. Under all that fine brown-grey, you were a slender cat. Doctor Fluff, Fluffer-puss, Flufftergon, Mister Fluff, and so forth. They called you “Jungle Love” at the Cat Haven. I think because you were the lovingest.
I went in search of you as a surprise gift, first seeing your picture online. A fluffy cat to be our Anniversary Cat. When they opened your cage door, you hesitated only a moment before coming out from the back and giving me what I would come to know as your customary greeting: a full-body rub, mashing your face into me, butting me as hard as you could. After such enthusiasm, we knew you approved of us. You didn’t want to ride home in the cat carrier, preferring your dad’s lap. He was your favourite person by far, and you sought him out to lay on at every opportunity.
And laying was one of the things you did the best. The first day you were free to explore the house, we found you sprawled on the bed. You knew you were home. Whenever you could find a way to climb inside of something to curl up and sleep, you would. Boxes, baskets, under the blanket with us, and even inside the rabbit’s cage in a minute of inattention from me. But particularly, you would lay on your back in our arms. If we were ever to pick you up, you would roll over and stretch as far as you could.
You had an extra sense for knowing when we had bought a rotisserie chicken and would hang out in the kitchen to give us one of your tiny, high-pitched, adorable and rare “aahh” meows, asking very nicely for us to share. Usually, we couldn’t resist and you would get a sliver of chicken. If we had let you, you would have eaten our turkey, spaghetti, and especially buttered toast as well. You would purr, stand tall, and wriggle your tail because you knew you were so beautiful. You would do the cutest little hop to ask for dinner.
Three years after we found you, almost to the day, you fell ill with urinary blockages. A week in and out of the vet hospital, and the vets couldn’t do any more for you. Though weakened, you purred for us today and we eased your suffering, taking that pain into our hearts instead. You’ll always be the Great Fluff. I love you, Doc. Be good.