Paw Prints on My Soul

For those who know me, they know I love cats. I love dogs too, but I don’t have the time to walk them, so I’ve always had cats instead. I got my first two cats at the age of 19, around the same time I moved out to live with my boyfriend—who is now my husband. Over the years, I lost Rascal, Smokie, and Caspie, which I believe is the hardest part of having fur babies. Yes, you heard that right—they are my babies. Having felt the loss and grief of losing them to old age, I spoil my cats even more now. They truly leave paw prints on your soul. Smokie was a small, affectionate female calico with short gray fur, while Rascal was a larger gray-and-white female with short hair and a lively personality. Thanks to them, I learned so much about feline behavior and became a better cat owner. Rascal lived for 18 years, and after her passing, we adopted Hunter and Casper to keep Smokie company. Hunter closely resembles Rascal, except he’s male, and Casper was a beautiful tuxedo cat. Life moved on, and we eventually relocated to a new state—with our cats, of course. Four years ago, I lost Smokie at the age of 22. After that, I lost Casper, and that loss felt like a knife in my heart. Many people told me, “They’re just cats,” but they mattered to me. Casper’s passing hurt deeply, especially because he only lived 8 or 9 years due to cancer. Losing Smokie and Rascal was painful, but they lived long, full lives. Casper didn’t, and I miss all of them dearly. I promised myself I wouldn’t get any more cats and would stay with Hunter alone. As I coped with my grief, I noticed Hunter becoming withdrawn and possibly depressed. After talking it over with my husband, we decided to adopt two kittens: Bella, who resembles Smokie but has a longer body, and Mookie, a unique ginger boy whose personality reminds me of Casper. Mookie will never replace Caspie, but each cat holds a special place in my heart. You might wonder why I’m writing about my cats. As I watched Mookie climb the Christmas tree, tug at the ornaments, and proudly carry them to me at night—placing them gently on my pillow—I felt time fold in on itself. In that moment, I saw Rascal, Smokie, and Caspie all over again, climbing, chasing, and filling my home with life. My cats are more than pets; they are chapters of my life, witnesses to my growth, my love, and my grief. They may be gone, but their presence never really leaves. They live on in memories, in quiet moments, and in the soft paw steps that still echo through my heart.