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No words.
Posted 4 years agoA couple of days ago, the most wonderful person I have ever known passed away.
I owe everything that I am to him. It is because of him that I became a furry. He's the one who helped me come up with my fursona. He introduced me to FA, furcons and many of the furries I've come to know over the years I would have never met if it hadn't been for him.
He was my first love. After we broke up I learned an incredibly valuable lesson on life and what it meant to be an adult. After we got back together, I learned how to apply this lesson to improve our life together.
I don't have much else to say, as I'm still struggling to comprehend it, so I'll finish with this.
To ravark, Koh'na and Hearts Bloom. You were the shining light of my life and will never be forgotten. You brought endless joy to many and will live on forever in our hearts.
For now and forever. I love you.
I owe everything that I am to him. It is because of him that I became a furry. He's the one who helped me come up with my fursona. He introduced me to FA, furcons and many of the furries I've come to know over the years I would have never met if it hadn't been for him.
He was my first love. After we broke up I learned an incredibly valuable lesson on life and what it meant to be an adult. After we got back together, I learned how to apply this lesson to improve our life together.
I don't have much else to say, as I'm still struggling to comprehend it, so I'll finish with this.
To ravark, Koh'na and Hearts Bloom. You were the shining light of my life and will never be forgotten. You brought endless joy to many and will live on forever in our hearts.
For now and forever. I love you.
Back from Confuzzled
Posted 10 years agoEverything is normal and scary. I'm the only deviant for miles and I'm all alone in my basement and the red bull in the fridge isn't insanely expensive. What the hell is going on?!
A farewell to Frank - For 13 wonderful years.
Posted 10 years agoToday at around 17:45, my cat passed away. She walked into the house one day, through an open back door, through the living room and straight into the kitchen looking for something to eat. Having invited herself into my parents' humble abode, she decided it would suffice as her headquarters from where she would plot her schemes for world domination, starting of course with the couch. For the first couple of days she didn't have a name, until two friends of mine came for a visit. They decided to name the curious little creature Frank and even though we later realized she was female, the name stuck.
Frank graced us with her presence for 13 years, always curious, wide eyed at anything or anyone new. She drooled a lot, shed enough fur to cover my bed three times over and ruined more than one piece of furniture in the living room. One of the first things we noticed about her, was her inability to say meow. I don't think we ever checked what the reason for that was, but it became one of her many adorable quirks. Instead she would communicate by scratching her claws against the floor, up against the cupboard for her food or at the door. Nails on chalkboard was nothing compared to the abuse she inflicted on my ears on a daily basis.
Frank was never a pet. She was a member of my family, as certainly as my mother or father or siblings are. She infuriated me, frustrated me, calmed me and made me laugh. She was very much her own creature, going wherever she wished, exploring every area she had no memory of being before, whether that be the basement, under cars, through piles of christmas wrapper or inside cupboards in the kitchen, every year there was some new place to find her and even at 13 years, she still jumped and ran with the same energy as she did when she first adopted me and my parents.
Then one day she suddenly fell ill. She barely had the energy to eat or drink, she would lie down on the floor and not pay any heed to anything that happened around her. When she was taken to the veterinary, she was diagnosed with cancer. Moments later, it was agreed to end her long life and hope she enjoyed living with us as much as we enjoyed her presence. Now Frank is gone and this is my farewell.
In endless gratitude, I bid you well, Frank. Thank you for all the times you wet my bed, all the times you tore holes in my pants or my couch. For all the times you drooled on my keyboard. For all the times you vomited on the carpet. For every moment you were willing to share with me. Safe journey across the cosmos, on your way to conquer paradise, starting of course with the couch.
Frank graced us with her presence for 13 years, always curious, wide eyed at anything or anyone new. She drooled a lot, shed enough fur to cover my bed three times over and ruined more than one piece of furniture in the living room. One of the first things we noticed about her, was her inability to say meow. I don't think we ever checked what the reason for that was, but it became one of her many adorable quirks. Instead she would communicate by scratching her claws against the floor, up against the cupboard for her food or at the door. Nails on chalkboard was nothing compared to the abuse she inflicted on my ears on a daily basis.
Frank was never a pet. She was a member of my family, as certainly as my mother or father or siblings are. She infuriated me, frustrated me, calmed me and made me laugh. She was very much her own creature, going wherever she wished, exploring every area she had no memory of being before, whether that be the basement, under cars, through piles of christmas wrapper or inside cupboards in the kitchen, every year there was some new place to find her and even at 13 years, she still jumped and ran with the same energy as she did when she first adopted me and my parents.
Then one day she suddenly fell ill. She barely had the energy to eat or drink, she would lie down on the floor and not pay any heed to anything that happened around her. When she was taken to the veterinary, she was diagnosed with cancer. Moments later, it was agreed to end her long life and hope she enjoyed living with us as much as we enjoyed her presence. Now Frank is gone and this is my farewell.
In endless gratitude, I bid you well, Frank. Thank you for all the times you wet my bed, all the times you tore holes in my pants or my couch. For all the times you drooled on my keyboard. For all the times you vomited on the carpet. For every moment you were willing to share with me. Safe journey across the cosmos, on your way to conquer paradise, starting of course with the couch.
