I really don’t know where to start… I mean… Well… I feel like I’ve lost my best friend.
No, correction. I did lose my best friend.
Give me a minute.
Okay.
They say it’s better if you just talk about it, but how can you put 50 years of devoted, unconditional love into just a few words?
You can’t.
You just wake up, like any other day, start your routine, and then in an instant, everything changes.
Today was that day.
I got up, called for her, and she didn’t come—but that in itself isn’t unusual. She could be quite stubborn and independent. I called for Bootz too, my cat, but she just meowed from the dresser where she sleeps. So, assuming all was well, I got out of bed.
If Lola hasn’t beaten me to it, I usually check the bowls: fresh Whiskas for Bootz, and a bowl of dry Pebbles cereal for Fluffy. I tried every type of food for Fluffy, but she only ever seemed to touch the Pebbles.
Hearing me fill the bowls, Bootz would come running, weaving between my feet. But Fluffy? She would never come running. She had a quiet dignity. She never begged or made a fuss. I liked that about Fluffy. I was always a sucker for animals that look at you with soulful eyes for a table scrap, and if Fluffy had been a beggar, I’d be in trouble.
If she begged, I’m sure I would have had to put us both on a strict diet regimen. I actually tried to get her interested in those fancy new organic diet plans once, just to see if she’d take to it, but it was no use. Fluffy simply wouldn’t bite. She never chewed the furniture, never snapped at guests, and she stuck to her routine with an iron will. A fate I’m glad we were spared.
After showering, I went to check the mail and get the morning paper. I remember trying to teach Fluffy to fetch the paper, but her stubborn nature was apparent from an early age. Many mornings I would drag her outside, show her the paper, and command her to fetch. To no avail. She would just sit on the paper and refuse to budge.
Eventually, I gave up and fetched it myself. But to my amazement, Fluffy seemed to have learned that the paper was a place to sit. Every morning, she would plant herself on the kitchen table, sitting squarely on top of the news while I poured coffee. It became a staring game which I always lost, forcing me to move her just to read the headlines. She may have been stubborn, but she was consistent. And, I suppose, I never had a soggy, chewed-up paper to read.
It was when I poured my coffee and prepared for our staring game that I found her. She just lay there, lifeless, under the kitchen table.
I’ve had many pets in my life, but none had the impact of Fluffy. I stood there for what felt like hours before I ran to wake up Lola. I am usually rock solid in times of crisis, but this was my Fluffy.
Lola took care of everything. She phoned the family; she calmed our son, Jason, down. For the first time, Lola was the rock, and I was the puddle of mush. I know she was taking it hard too—when we first got married, Lola couldn’t warm up to Fluffy because she didn’t care for hairless pets—but she eventually loved her just as much as I did.
We knew this would happen someday. We aren’t fanatical… we didn’t plan a lavish funeral or buy an expensive plot. But we weren’t going to let a Vet dispose of our beloved Fluffy, either. We planned a simple service in the backyard. Fluffy was a special member of our family.
My heart swelled to see my entire family – all in black – come to bid farewell. My mother took it especially hard; it was Mom who got Fluffy for me in the first place, despite Dad’s objections. Dad had argued that a pet shouldn’t be a gift, that once the novelty wore off, the responsibility would remain. He said I wasn’t ready. But Mom argued that, at fifteen years old, I could handle it.
Dad was proud that I proved him wrong that Christmas, all those years ago.
And now, I’m bidding my own farewell. I will never forget that morning in 1975. Mom always had little tricks—wrapping small things in big boxes to throw me off. I usually guessed right.
But I had no idea about Fluffy. She was a real surprise.
To my Fluffy: If there is a heaven, I know you are happy there. You were the best Pet Rock a person could ever have.
I will miss you.Fluffy Sirianni December 1975 – January 2026