Papillon was a jungle cat when they found him. That’s not a metaphor. That curious, lithe little guy with the fierce vampire-like teeth actually lived in the wild in Costa Rica. One day he walked onto my brother and sister-in-law’s property, they formed a mutual attachment, and that was the adoption process. They named him Papillon, or butterfly in French. A perfect name for a being who flitted around with a childlike sense of wonder.
(They did discover much later that he was someone else’s cat and they were like oops haha, but they never considered giving him back. He had joined the family.)
Papillon lived in Costa Rica, then Idaho, then Costa Rica again, then Idaho again. He traveled more than many humans. A true adventurer.
Last week I got a text from my sister-in-law saying “Papillon is dying. We have a couple days to spend with him and then we’re saying goodbye.” He had suddenly gotten very lethargic so they took him to the vet, where they discovered that he had advanced kitty leukemia. It was too late to do anything. He had likely had it for years. They were crushed.
My sister-in-law called me and just sobbed. Her pain was palpable, and my heart broke over and over that day and the next and the next, partially because I love Papi and was sad to hear he was leaving the earth, but even more because I was feeling their pain, and wishing I could…
