Dear Peach,
I just heard the best story.
Before I was born, my person had a cat named Goose. I've heard stories about Goose before and was already a fan. He lived a long, happy life. He was 18 years old when he did pass in his sleep, snuggling in the bed with my person. From everything I've heard, it sounds like he had a great life and was delightfully spoiled.
One story in particular was just great. My person had had Goose for quite some time when she had that horrible idea to bring home that dog. Goose was not a fan of the dog. He was very standoffish and always managed to get all of my person's attention, as a cat should.
Since the dog has always been jealous of how great cats are and clearly wants to be one, he's always wanted to play with cats. Well, one day, the dog took his tennis ball to Goose and dropped it, trying to get Goose to play with him. Apparently, Goose just wasn't having that. He stood up, took a step forward, and then lay back down...with the ball concealed under his tummy. The dog whined, but Goose would not get up and let the dog have that ball back. Then my person made a mistake and sided with the dog instead of the correct party. She picked Goose up, gave him a big hug and a kiss, assured him he would always be extremely precious to her, all of which was right. Then, the wrong thing was: She gave the dog his ball back!
Hearing this story about Goose stealing the dog's ball has made up my mind once and for all: That cat is my hero. I now understand why my person keeps a framed photo of him in the living room. I'm sad I never got to meet him. I could have learned a lot from him.
Rest in Peace, Goose. I know my person loves and misses you every day.
Love,
Banana
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