It's hard to deal with the loss of any pet, but I feel like it's even harder when that pet depended on you so much. He couldn't walk, so we had to help support him when he wanted to move around, prop him up to eat and drink, and clean up his messes. We'd hold him and talk to him, and give him lots of hugs and kisses... In a lot of ways it really was like having a small child: he'd make a noise when he wanted something, and we'd do our best to help him get it.

Now without him, I just feel so lost.

I keep saying "It'll be ok," "We'll be ok," "It'll get better," because I think if I keep saying it, that'll make it feel more true.

But I don't want to talk about me, or us, I just want to talk about him, and how great he was.

Papyrus (once known as Ivan) was an incredible little guy, full of all kinds of spirit. He'd kick his feet in excitement when he saw me or Zel, and he loved to stretch and curl up on his little bed and take a nice nap. He loved it when I put him in the pocket of my hoodie and took him places: the car, the pet store, the backyard, even just to the couch to watch some TV. He hated baths... But he loved getting dried off and cuddled, especially if a blow dryer was involved.

He was the only cat who has ever bitten me, despite my 4 years of work at an animal shelter. He didn't mean it to be mean, but he had a hard time controlling his jaws and would often bite when I tried to give him treats, or if I was holding him and he wanted to get my attention. It was cute, even though it hurt sometimes.

He had the cutest little meow, and the loudest purr: even louder than his 3 siblings that were more than twice his size.

He loved eating his wet food: his favorite seemed to be minced salmon kitten food, which was a bit tricky to find, but he did better at eating it than other kinds of wet food. He'd purr when I fed him in the morning, right after I got home from work, and got out of the shower and took my contaminated scrubs to the laundry. He got his own special food like that so he could grow up big and strong, and it was working pretty well: he doubled in size from the time he came home with me.

He loved to drink water, I think because he had a bit of trouble getting it to actually go down his throat. But even so, he'd probably drink half of his little bowl every day, and still be eager to get up and get some more.

He wasn't too into playing, but sometimes you'd catch him in a good mood and he'd have so much fun trying to catch the cat wand in between his paws. He also liked catnip and would rub his face all over toys that had it in there. Sometimes I'd help him sharpen his claws on the scratching post or climb up the cat condo... Though that never really worked so well. His favorite toy when he was little was a small, soft purple bear that he'd hug and chew on, though when he got older he wasn't as fond of it. He still would sleep with it though: I'd tuck it right next to him so he could have something to play with while I was asleep.

We'd sometimes put him in a little tiny cat hoodie so that he wouldn't get too cold: his bed was on the floor, because I was afraid that he might fall if I put the bed on something else. Good thing too, because sometimes we'd come home and he'd have somehow squirmed halfway across the floor, trying to get around.

That's who Papyrus was: the most fantastic kitten I have known. Brain damage or not, everyone who met him loved him. It's not hard to see why, either... He had such charisma to him.

I don't really believe in heaven, or "the rainbow bridge" that animals get to go over when they die. I'm not a spiritual person, I don't really believe in souls or an afterlife, or anything of that nature. I believe in life, and making sure that we make the most of it. Now I know that I have made the most of my life, because I--with the help and love of many others--made the most of his life. I will continue to make the most of the lives of every small, unloved, unusual animal that I come across; it's the least I can do to repay him for all the happiness he gave me.