Sparky

“Mom, why didn’t you tell me Sparky was a dog’s name?” my eight year old son asked me after telling the kids at school that day what we named our kitten. “Because it suits him well,” I replied. Sparky had spunk. The first thing he did when he came to our house was to lead his littermates behind my washer. He was the wild one of the litter, the leader, always ready to play and make mischief. His first Christmas with us I ended up eyeball to eyeball with him in our Christmas tree. He had climbed the trunk, curious to see what I was doing. Thank goodness he was still pretty small then. He grew up but still had that wild streak, still playful all his life. But he was also a mama’s boy and loved nothing more than reaching his paws up on my leg so I’d pick him up like a child and put him over my shoulder. That was his happy spot. He was so content there I always wondered how long he’d stay there if I didn’t have to put him down and go on to some task. He loved his buddy Isabelle and grew to love Sweet Pea, happy to cuddle with them and groom them. Sparky would push his head under my hand so I’d pet him and was quick to climb onto my lap as I worked at my desk. His eyes would change from yellow to green the happier he was and the more attention lavished on him.

Sparky, you left us too soon and too suddenly but it was a pleasure and a privilege to have you in our lives. See you on the other side, my handsome little man.

—Rachel