My Simba

“Oh yes, the past can hurt. But from the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it.” – Rafiki

What I have been hurt by and have learned from in my past is that loving a pet as much as I loved mine is one of the best experiences a person can have. I will always love my little meow and what having him in my life meant to me.

My Simba came into my life and barreled into my heart in June 2015. He rescued me from a lonely single gal life in my small apartment. The day he arrived he was small, pure white with teeny pink ears that seemed too small for his rather rotund head. He also had a tiny pink button nose that I just adored. For a whole month it was just the two of us, he had a friend in me and even though he would hop on me, scratch at my ankles and always always want to rough house, I knew I had a friend in him. Then my boyfriend came into my life and love found a way to bond the 3 of us together. For the first year of Simba's life, he caused havoc everywhere he went (not that he went any farther than the apartment and in the general vicinity, no elephant graveyards for this guy.) Despite this, I continued to love him, attempt to cuddle and pet him as much as possible and fed him like a little chubby king. Then all of a sudden, one summer's evening, he was gone. Panic set in and after almost a week of social media posts, signs/posters on trees and in shop windows, he was discovered. He was discovered 15 minutes away at the back of the shopping centre, which meant he would have had to cross a river bridge amongst half the town in broad day light to get there. So I guess he did have some of the adventurous instinct of his namesake. After scaling two walls, entertaining the good natured curiosity of an old lady passerby and ripping a pair of trousers, Simba's Dad rescued him. I'd never been so happy to see the little white nightmare, he looked a little less white and a little less pudgy, but he soon fixed the pudgy part at least. 

I always thought Simba would stay with us for years, I thought in 10 years when we have a bunch of pets and maybe a kid or two, he would be laying about, fat as a fool and just wanting a pat on the head and a nap. I think I more than just thought this, I really hoped for it. In spite of all his flaws and madness, I knew every time he lay beside me in the early morning, when his Dad headed off to work and he curiously looked up to see what I was watching, reading, listening to and purred like a tiny tractor....that he needed me, his Mama, and I really needed him. Yesterday evening, we did the same old routine, joked with our little chubby boy about how mad and fat he was, told him we loved him and put him out with a bowl full of grub. Just one hour later my Simba was dead. I miss him so much, I wish I had his bellyhouse to rub with the sweeping brush while cleaning the kitchen, I wish I could laugh about how chubby he is while feeding him leftover cheese, I wish I could watch him sit on his Dad's chest at the most inopportune moments and watch his Dad let him sit there forever just so he wasn't disturbed. Most of all I wish I could walk home from work or the cinema and hear that shrill little "meeooow" and look up and see my little King of the Pride lands looking at me, I love you Simba and I'll always remember who you were.