By Andee Bingham
When I first met Pippi, she was my new roommate’s cat. Pippi and my roommate weren’t bonded — in fact, Pippi only lived there because she had come as a “package deal” with her littermate, Maru. When I first met her, she was very shy and only came out of hiding for brief trips to her food bowl and litter box.
I’m a sucker for the misfit weirdos, so I fell in love with her immediately.
I spent hours every day sitting beside whatever piece of furniture she had chosen so hide under or inside, just reading, drawing, or knitting. Every once in a while she’d poke her head out to look around or sniff me, and eventually she started letting me pet her.
It wasn’t long before she loved me back and spent all of her time at my feet or in my lap. Our bond was like nothing I had ever experienced with an animal before; I swear we could read each other’s minds. I loved that cat more than anything else in the world. So, when I eventually moved out, I took her with me. My roommate never questioned it.
I got to spend 10 lovely years with this beautiful creature before she passed away from diabetic complications in 2014 at the ripe old age of 17. Though I love all of my furkids equally in their own special ways, Pippi will always hold a unique and special place in my heart.
After all, she was my first true love.