Last night I came home after a games night and went to sit down on my couch and just expected to see her there. Waiting for me. Curled up and napping. Her bright green eyes would open up at the sound of my approach and a "breowwww" would escape her mouth as she stretched and got up to say hello. My friend and companion of 20 years. She was my first pet - the first one I chose for myself. I was 10 and my Dad took my sister and I to a house where someone was giving away a batch of kittens for free. I saw her there - the smallest, scrawniest little kitten of the batch and the only black one. The rest of the kittens were tabby. I was drawn to her and ran and grabbed her right away. There was no question, no considering, this was my cat. We had our ups and downs but she was always there. Now she's not and it's left a hole. A hole that is extremely hard to describe, especially to those who couldn't possibly understand. I still feel her and when I remember that the feeling is just a memory, it hurts. I miss you little one.
One thing continually bothers me as I read Diana Gabaldon's richly detailed story of Claire Beauchampe, a doctor who innocently walks into a stone formation in Scotland and winds up in 16th century Scotland. Much has happened since this beginning...Claire has married Jamie Fraser the young and impressive Scottish Laird (against her wishes), fallen madly in love with him regardless of a precarious beginning to their relationship, followed him around as they attempt to evade the English, fought with him at the battle of Culloden, been forced back through the stones to safety with their unborn child, raised their child with her ambiguous husband from the future, returned after her child had grown up so that she could find him, made a new life with him in an American Colony, and been surprised by the appearance of her daughter and new son in law in 16th century America. Through their many, often rediculous, adventures there is that one thing that my brain ...

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