My dearest Ella,

Dear Ella,

I remember the first time I saw you. We were at the shelter, and you were cuddled up with your two brothers. I remember one of them had an all-black nose. A little girl and her mother told us how sweet you were, and the little girl had already named you Ella. I planned to change your name when we adopted you, but Ella somehow stuck.

Even though you were shy, we had an immediate connection. That summer, I’d come home from work every day and lay on the couch with you snuggled by my side. I miss your tiny meow so much. I keep looking at all the places you used to be—your favorite spots on the couch, the cozy corners. It’s so hard knowing you're not there anymore.

The guilt I feel is unbearable. I don’t know if I did the right thing. You went through so much with me. You moved with me six times! You came to Tampa and lived with me in dorms and many apartments. And even when I got Bo—who I know he could be a lot —you still loved him, even when he annoyed you.

You were always there for me, even in my lowest moments. Just having you physically near brought me comfort, even when you were hiding. I never realized just how much that meant to me until now.

You were my first cat—the first pet I cared for on my own. We had such a deep bond, and I truly hope you felt how much I loved you in those last moments. I’m so sorry if you were scared. I wish more than anything you were still here.

The grief is overwhelming. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and I can’t stop crying. But I want to remember the good times—the snuggles, the soft purrs, the way you’d curl up beside me—and not just your last breath or the moment they took you away.

You were so, so loved, Ella by me, and by everyone who met you. I’ll miss you every single day.

I love you forever.

Love,

Julia