Dear Fergie. Do you remember the little apartment we first shared together on Lower Queen Anne in Seattle? That was where we lived after I adopted you and brought you home from the shelter. That was where our life began.
The apartment was tiny and vintage, and had a matchbox-sized kitchen. I’ll always remember you sitting in the doorway to the kitchen whenever I was in there, knowing you weren’t allowed to come in because I had trained you to stay out when I was making food. But you often pushed your luck, and would sit with your butt on the dining room carpet and your feet on the linoleum kitchen floor.
You were so cute that I let it slide every time.