Over the rainbow bridge

The first time I saw Pixie, it was summer, a hot day gradually turning into a warm evening. My sister and I were going to Petsmart with our dad to get some cat food when we noticed her. She had an inquisitive expression on her face as her lime green eyes tracked our movement from side to side. We immediately called our mom to tell her about the cat we had just seen, and our mom, intrigued, decided to meet us there.

We met with Pixie that very day, and took her home the next. At first Pixie was very shy, often cramming herself in tight corners or under beds just to avoid us. However, she slowly warmed up to us and our other cats, soon allowing us to pet her, and eventually even to pick her up and cuddle with her. It was the day that Pixie climbed onto my shoulder from where I was sitting at the dinner table, doing homework, that I knew: Pixie would forever be a part of our family, and letting her go would be one of the most difficult decisions I could ever make. The summer breeze cutting through the towering trees moves a few strands of my hair from my face as I blink out of my memories. The flashlight in my hand wavers for a moment before I steady it, moving it to the side so my dad can see where to continue digging the grave. It has only been two days since we had to put Pixie down because of her sickness, and the memories still hurt.

Pixie, with her curious expressions as she sniffed her food, and her content smile as she curled into her favorite pink blanket, the same one she is wrapped in her coffin. Moths buzz around in the air, attracted by the light from the flashlight, as my parents finish digging into the ground. My sister and I crowd around the hole in the ground as my parents gently lower the handmade wooden box Pixie is resting in.

My eyes filling with tears, I tenderly placed an envelope filled with pictures of Pixie, our other cats,