belated, and posthumous, birthday wishes

Dear Kibbee,
Yesterday would have been your birthday. Celebrating it a day late wasn't actually uncommon; we're bad at remembering your birthday (and we haven't even come up with a birthday for the newest cat yet!). I miss you. I miss your smallth and brownth, and your way of finding a lap where there isn't one. Weirdly, one of the laddies did that a few weeks ago, and while it was sweet, it was sad because it reminded me of you. I haven't let myself think about you much in the last few weeks; now that I am, I'm weepy. You would have left by now, I fear, were I typing this with you here.
My side is usually unoccupied at night, and it's usual for my lap to be empty. It's not that the other cats aren't occasionally social, but they're not as persistent as you.
I could go on at some length, I suspect, but all of it would come back to the same point: I miss you. I wish you were both well and here, mildly indignant that we'd missed your 18th birthday yesterday. I would have given you tummy pats.