Tribble, Tribs, Tribby P, little guy, little dude, bud, buddy.
You’re my best friend’s cat, but I’m the next-of-kin on the pet-sitter paperwork. You’re not mine, but I’m definitely a part of you.
You’ve been a presence and a comfort through most of my adult life. I’d like to think we’ve gotten each other through a lot.
The last few years have been nonstop pain, trauma, and horror—I thought my capacity to feel was dead. I was wrong.
I’ve said goodbye to you four times now, and this time was the last. Safe travels over the Bifrost, friend.