We had a magnificent run, she and I. I got her in the fall of 1997, I believe, as a tiny little ball of fluff only weeks old. She was with me from about my sophomore year of college until just this past July. I'm 38. I'm tearing up just typing it. She consoled me through some of the worst years of my life, through a lot of strife with my parents, depression in grad school, and my first (and I'm proud to say, only) deeply broken heart. I miss her terribly.
Wasn't she beautiful?
In early September, my sister in law texted a photo of a kitten and not much else, other than he was 5 weeks old and I folded like a wet cardboard box. I've told people for ages that I live alone but, until Binky was gone, that hadn't actually been true. The day I had her put to sleep and I came home from work to what was then a TRULY EMPTY HOUSE was an eye opening moment in the pet ownership department. I had talked to her. She had talked to me. I don't believe it mattered to either of us that we had no clue what the other was saying (though we seemed to understand each other just fine).
So my friend CVH and I picked up another little ball of fluff only weeks old and I named him Captain Howdy. Yes, after the demon from The Exorcist. When he's REALLY bad, I call him Pazuzu and post it on social media with the hashtag #captainhowdythatsnotverynice. I enjoy it. And I enjoy him. He's chewing up everything I own, including my hands and feet, and I'm loving every minute of it.
Welcome to Holley's House, Captain Howdy!
