He was perfect, and I'm not just saying that because he's dead

I thought it every morning as he wound around my legs purring louder than our neighbors 90 year old snowblower. When he was done saying good morning he'd saunter on over the the dog's water dish and take a nice long "just to remind you whose in charge" sort of drink and then he and Murphy would run in and out of the kitchen until one was caught and they'd end up in a furry ball of happy contentment. He was the bright spot in my children's day as he'd clamor up their legs as they sat at the breakfast table and cuddled into their laps. His sandpaper tongue often found its way to a cheek or an earlobe if he wasn't busy batting playfully at a loose strand of hair or the cords of a hoodie. When the children were at school he'd make his way up the Christmas tree until my half hearted reprimands would bring him down. He kept himself busy rolling around the tile floor wrapped around shiny red ornaments he had dislodged in his hurried descent. When he was tuckered out he'd curl up in his favorite place under the tree and sleep peacefully as Murphy sat nearby waiting for his furry friend to wake.

Last night I ran over him.

Allie carried him around in box (he was beautiful, as if in a restful sleep)

while Brayden and Brandon dug a hole under our favorite tree.

After nestling his Christmas gift between his paws

we each shared our favorite things about Oreo

and then Brandon offered a sweet, sweet prayer.

We all cried until I thought we could cry no more

and then at the end of the evening Nick handed me a picture.

It was a puzzle, he said, with hidden letters for me to find.

It was a picture of me running over the kitten.

I keep trying to wake up from this bad dream

but it's not working,