Peavey

She was named Pansy, but she was no flower. Peavey is my amplifier.

She truly believed she was a dog; she owned them. She made them wait patiently for her to eat their food before she let them dine.

She groomed us with sandpaper butterfly kisses. The cat who groomed, groomed with the affection of a dog.

She held her head high until her sister arrived to carry it. Her final days waited only for her two girls to be together to send her off to guard us.

Her mother rose because she could. Her mother is so grateful.

As she passed, with each exhaled rattle, “I love you met her ears.” Each one. For hours.

The reindeer pillow that felt her chin, now becomes a symbol of a cat, the myth, the legend; Peavey.