Boris

It was a long night of visitation. Unlike previous times, Boris being present was central, rather than a very welcome element thrust into some other dream. It was our house, and he was in the book room, closed off from the other cats. I'd slip in, and be overwhelmed with excitement to see him healthy and agile, and very happy to see me, inexpressible joy that I could feel in my throat and chest. At one point, I slipped in, and Zevo darted in as well. I had this sense that he wasn't supposed to be there, but he went and stood behind something, like he didn't want to leave, and just wanted to be near. As I was thinking about pulling him out, Boris jumped up in my way, and it was OK; I couldn't fault Zevo for wanting to be in the same room as his lifelong friend.

Throughout the night, I would wake up and vividly remember it all, and then go back to sleep and see him again. Not only could I feel the healthy, glossy fur and run my hands along a body not emaciated with sickness, when I put my face on the top of his head I could smell the very distinctive scent of fresh, healthy Boris. At one point, I woke up after that and remembered that saints are associated with specific olfactory signs, and thought it fitting, 'Saint Boris'. Zevo climbed up at that point and lay with his head across my arm, gently purring, as if sharing the moment.

The last time, I remember sitting with Zevo and the kittens (Spodgumine apparently didn't care about Boris) in the book room so Janiene could spend time with him in the computer room (keeping the cats separated seemed important, for some reason). I realized it was OK to leave the kittens with Zevo, and that Boris wanted to see us both at the same time, and very gratefully lavished attention on the best kitty in the world.

Thank you, Boris. I will always love you at least this much.