You died today, alone in dad's garage. We don't know why, or how. All we know is that it is very quiet in the house without you.
You came to us six years ago from a place unknown. You were only around six months old, and such a little man - not a kitten and not yet a cat. I fell in love with you and your long orange fur and copper eyes the minute I saw you. I wanted so much to take care of you, but you were an independent spirit.
We watched you grow into a beautiful cat whose sense of adventure led to mishaps, the worst being a broken right hip. But you had surgery for that and recovered well, your limber body betraying no signs of ever having been injured.
I can only guess what you got into this time. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you took your last breath. Tonight will be the first night you won't be coming to bed with me, mashing and purring, mussing up the covers to make yourself a soft spot to lay down in. I buried you beneath the same tree that so many other of my babies lay underneath.
I named you Sunny not just because you could always find a sunshiney spot anywhere to bask in, but also because your fur was the color of the sun. Mostly, though, you were my Funny Sunny Bunny Honey who brought an immeasureable amount of light into my life.
Good night, sweet prince. Sleep tight.