Skipper,

Sometimes I think we met that day to save each other. You were six weeks old, weighed less then a pound, and left half dead in a field on one of the coldest days in October. I was seventeen, miserably depressed, and for some cosmically understated reason, equally alone on that same awfully frigid day.

You were probably the ugliest kitten I'd ever seen.

You were a patchwork mess of bald spots and dirty multi-colored fur. Holding you tight against my chest, trying to keep you warm, your most distinctive features were the ridiculous looking bald patches by your ears that branded you as a pint-sized Yoda. Or maybe E.T.

But even on that very first day, when for whatever reason we crossed paths and I scooped you up into my arms, you brought warmth into my life. Huddled up in my coat, shivering, I could feel your tiny heart beating against my own, and that single spot where you sat made my whole chest feel fuzzy in a way I hadn't felt for ages. Yes, you were the most miserable looking creature I'd ever seen, but I bet you'd have said the same about me, too.

I knew I was going to be in trouble when I brought you home. My mom was allergic to cats, and we'd certainly never been able to have one before. But I was already determined, and if there is one defining character trait I possess its an iron streak of stubbornness that gets me in trouble more often than not. So Skipper, I've provided a brief transcript of the conversation with my mother that day, in case you forgot:

"Mom, I have a surprise! Come here!"
"It better not be a puppy."
"Oh, its not!"

You cried the whole first night I had you.

Scared of being alone, you only stopped when I knelt down next to the dog crate I'd found in the garage for you and stuck my hand in through a gap in the zipper. I didn't want to leave you alone, but you were too small to be on my bed, and I was honestly somewhat scared of rolling over and squishing you. I ended up spending the night on the floor where you could see me, and I could see you. It was a better nights sleep than I'd ever thought it could be.

The next day, you went to the vet. Kind of.

You were allowed to stay in the house under the pretext that I would have to find you a new home as soon as possible, so you and I took a trip to our local animal shelter together. I was supposed to keep you in a carrier, but I snuck you out into my lap anyways. I had no idea something so small could purr so loud, I was starting to worry you'd swallowed a triple-A battery or something.

The resident vet at the shelter gave you a clean bill of health, despite everything. I was beyond relieved. Clearly it did not take me more then ten hours to get irreversibly attached to you.

Per my agreement with my mother though, I signed you up to be a resident of the shelter. It made my heart ache just a little. Who would sit with you at night while you cried here? Would they know what kind of blanket you liked to cuddle with? I was a designated mess.

"She's too young to be adopted out," The vet had gestured over her papers. "She might need a foster home until---"

"I'll do it." I'd blurted out, like an idiot without a second thought.

The vet didn't even blink twice before handing me her paperwork and a pen. And I, because I am a fool with a bleeding heart, signed my name on the dotted line without hesitation.

You were the best part of my life from that moment on.

Every day I would come home from school, exhausted, depressed, miserable, and at the end of my rope, and you would greet me with the happiest, most heartwarming chirp an animal could make. Slowly, and lovingly, you would bring brightness back into my day.

I was trying so hard not to get attached to you and, predictably, failing miserably.

Every day my mom would ask me if I'd found you a home yet and every day I'd answer, "I'm working on it." Like the world's most unconvincing liar.

You were there for me on one of the darkest days of my life.

I came out as bisexual in a blind fit of rage to my mother in the worst fight we'd ever had, which for anyone who knows us, is saying something. We'd screamed for hours, things were broken, I felt like my very core had been trampled on beyond repair.

I took three things with me when I left that day. My wallet, my keys, and you, Skipper.

I drove and drove and drove with you curled in the passenger seat. I had nowhere to go. No one to talk to. Eventually I stopped in a bank parking lot, lost and alone, and cried. You slowly nudged your way into my arms, purring as loud as ever, and grounded me in a way no words ever could. I knew that day that I would never be finding you a home. You had already found one. And I, selfishly, needed that home to be mine.

I officially adopted you the day after I turned 18.

I gave the receptionist at the shelter $75 in exchange for my best friend, and I still haven't made a better purchase since.

Skipper, its true you may sometimes be the most annoying animal in existence. I still don't know why you try to eat plastic bags, except maybe to give me the occasional heart attack, or why you insist on sticking your ENTIRE face into my water glass when you have a PERFECTLY functional water dish RIGHT THERE, but you never fail to make me laugh. Yes, even when you, for whatever God forsaken reason, drown the toys I buy you in your water bowl and then proceed to leave their sopping wet corpses to drain out on my bed.

When I tell people the story of how we met that bitter day in October, they tell me I saved you. But I know the truth. The truth is that day, you saved me. I owe you my life Skipper, and I will always be grateful. Yes, even when you sit on my face and demand food at 5 AM on a Saturday.

To Skipper, my tiny but fierce first mate, thank you for being the best companion a girl could ask for.

Your humble two-legged indentured servant,

Alara