My beautiful boy Leo was only three weeks old when I rescued him from a trash can at a bus stop on a busy street.
Leo also rescued me. I was 17 years old, lost and depressed after losing my home and losing my grandfather, who was more like my dad. Leo was, in my eyes, a gift from my grandfather from the beyond. He had the prettiest sky-blue eyes, just like my grandfather did. Full of love and trust.
Over the 17 years we had together, Leo became my son, my best friend, my protector, and my comedian. He was there for me when I was sick, or just sad. He never left my side.
Whenever I sat down, Leo was automatically in my lap. Sometimes I didn’t even realise it, he would just magically appear there. He was the best cuddler, with the loudest purrs and the roughest kisses. Sometimes he would kiss my chin until my skin got raw, but I didn’t care. I loved him, and I know he loved me in all the ways he would show it.
Leo loved chicken, and salmon sushi, and fast-food hamburger patties. In his last days I spoiled him with all the people food he wanted, and all the cuddles and lap time he needed.
I lost Leo at 17 years old, just a few months shy of 18, to anaemia caused by feline chronic kidney disease. His final moments were spent with me on his favorite blanket on my bed, eating his favorite treats from my hand. I kissed him goodbye and told him we would be together again someday.
I will forever miss my boy. I know he loved me all his life, and I will love and miss him for the rest of mine.
