Today, instead of celebrating a National Holiday, I am celebrating the birthday of my cat, Marshmallow, who died 10 years ago at just a year old. This little ball of fluff was a gray and white runt who could fit easily in the palms of two hands once he was fully grown. His fur puffed out in light wisps like a fluffy marshmallow, hence his name.

They say that cats have nine lives, and this cat was no exception. He had no fear, never hesitating to interact with our German shepherd, and when our rottweiler cornered him and started barking, the cat only looked confused rather than scared. As an outdoor cat, he would often roam our property, visiting us as we played out in the woods.

A favored location of his was a pile of large rocks, which my brother and I pretended were the outer walls of a fortress. Marshmallow would often visit there while we engaged in our fake battles. This, combined with a small cat-shaped rock we found in that area, earned the location the name Marshmallow Rocks.

Months later, when Marshmallow died, we took the cat-shaped rock from the Marshmallow Rocks and used it to mark his grave. Happy birthday, Marshmallow!