I looked out the window, and it was raining. Oh, am I glad that I live in a twoleg den. Rain is the last thing I wanted. Right next to me is Mother, she’s very ill. And on the left is my little sister and brother wrestling each other. My Mother is always talking about the time we had with father. He died someday after I had been born. I continued to look out the window until the Owner came over and scratched Mother behind the ears. They set down the food bowls and my mother moved. 

“Are you going to eat?” Mother asked, her grey tail swishing.

“Not right now,” I answered, flicking my brown tail.

“Why?” she asked, climbing back on the window sill. 

“I’m not hungry Mommy!” I meowed as she dragged me over to my bowl, I’m just astonished how strong she still is when she’s sick. “Fine! I’ll eat, but you have to tell me a story of Daddy when we sleep!”

“Oh fine you little bug! Chester! Chrysanthemum! Come eat dinner with me and Jasmine!” 

“Okay, Mommy!” They purred.  

After I ate my food I got back to the biggest window. Not much long after Mother found me near the window. 

“Why are you at the window again?” Mother asked, her white paws shuffling.

“Because when I look at the window I remember daddy,” I answered. 

“How does the window make you remember your father?” she asked, clearly confused. 

“I don't know how it reminds me of daddy. It feels like his cold spirit and I can practically hear he’s purring, trying to make me happy and telling me that he is always here. But I just can’t bring it to my heart.” I answered, dropping my gaze to my brown paws.

“I know it's hard that your father is not here. But that is in the past, and that is likely to hold you back. You have to concentrate on the future. It is best to look at the future, not the past.” Mother answered, sounding sad.

“He was not with me a lot when I was born and he wasn’t with Chester and Chrysanthemum at all!”.

“He is always with us, he is just watching us from Spiritclan. Do you feel just a little better?”  Mother asked, her grey fur ruffling.

“But it’s not the same when he was here,” I answered, sadness sinking deep into my fur.

“I know how you feel, my mother died too. But know this: they did it because it’s the right thing to do, they wouldn't do it if it was not the right thing to do. Okay?” Mother answered, less sad.

“Okay,” I answered, the weight of sadness lifting.

“Now, it's getting dark. I think you should be getting to bed,” Mother purred.

We got down from the window sill and Mother called after Chester and Chrysanthemum, telling them it was time to go to bed.

“Aw, Okay,” they both purred, getting up from their little game of tag.

When we got into our soft, blue bed she told us the story, but before she could finish it we were fast asleep. I remember what my mother said.

7 years later…

       (My mom died 5 years and 6 months ago)

It was that kind of day that was perfect to chase butterflies 

“Hey, Chester! Chrysanthemum! I got the jackpot here!” The butterfly was an incredible shade of purple-blue and black with some white spots on the lower wing.

They turned to me and shrugged, Chrysanthemum’s white and brown fur rustling in the light breeze.

“Jasmine, why do you still like chasing butterflies when you’re the oldest? Come smell some of the flowers outside.”  Chrysanthemum meowed, turning to smell a pink flower.

My little brother stuck his grey nose into a white and yellow flower and covered it with his brown paw, “Just don’t smell this one! It smells awful!’

I giggled, “Na, I’ll go chase that butterfly.”

“Okay,” Chrysanthemum said carelessly. She turned to a yellow buttercup and continued smelling the flowers.

“You do you, Jasmine,” Chester said. His brown and grey fur always makes me feel furious.

“See you!” I called as I chased it over the fence and into the woods. I only stopped when I lost track of the Blue Morpho. I turned back and tried to find my way home by retracing my steps but I can’t, what am I supposed to do now?