Po

Po died in my arms. She stretched and exhaled and was gone, very peacefully. 

She was a brave cat, the first to explore whenever we moved to a new home. The first to get outside and wedge her butt into a banana tree and need rescuing. Once, she disappeared for three days on Maui and I ran around the jungle calling her name, only to turn and find her following me, confused about what I was looking for. She had a scratchy voice, weird nipples, and she went from purring to scratching the shit out of you in half a second. She peed absolutely everywhere and destroyed all our furniture. One time, when I leaned forward on the couch, she got behind me and peed down my butt crack.

I loved her very much.

Pour one out for Po tonight, friends.

Three in three weeks. My best terrible girl. I am so fucking heartbroken.