I had some bears when I was a kid, but I just don’t recall their names.
However, I do have this small pillow that a family friend made for me. It’s a cat face. The face is green (yes, it’s supposed to be), the ears are pink, and the back is orange. His name is Kitty. I got him when I was six years old. I’m 33 now. I still sleep with him.
Kitty is a he. If you saw him, you’d understand. He just doesn’t look like a girl. And I sleep on him. But not with on his face. If I sleep on his face, he won’t be able to breathe.
(I know. “But how can he breathe with his face in the pillow?” Say it all you want, but you will never defeat the logic of a six year old.)
Nine years ago, I got a divorce and moved to Wisconsin, with an abusive alcoholic. Kitty of course moved with me. When I fled that relationship, in my haste I left Kitty behind, and I didn’t realize it until I was already on the bus home. My mom met me at the bus station when I got back, and the first thing I said to her when I got off the bus was “Mom, I’ve got to get to a phone. I left Kitty.” My mom cried with me.
Once I got to a phone, I called the landlady of the place I had been staying. I explained to her, hey, I left this mangy looking pillow shaped like a cat. Could you go get it for me, before that f***head destroys it? She was a little puzzled, but one I said “I’ve had him since I was six…” she just said “Say no more. He’ll be in the mail tomorrow, and the postage is on me.” Kitty and I were reunited four days later.
No one knows more about me than Kitty. He knows all of my secrets, he’s shared my joys and my sorrows. Throughout my life, he has always been there, quietly comforting me when I need him. I’ve gotten the occasional ribbing about him, but by and large, most folks understand…
…everyone just needs a lovey now and then.