When I was in my early teens, I had a large black cat whose name I don't remember. I inadvertently caused him to pass away. He was deathly afraid of vacuum sweepers, and whenever we vacuumed, we'd shoo him into a room so he wouldn't panic. One day I forgot to do this, and he took shelter under the couch without my knowing. I was vacuuming around the couch, getting right up next to it, during I can only assume he was under there completely losing his shit. He eventually bolted out from under the couch as best he could, but while he was doing so, he was having a seizure. I assume he had a heart attack, and passed away.

A short time thereafter, we fostered a pregnant cat who had a litter. Two of them had very apparent neurological disorders. One passed away a few days after birth, the other one lasted about seven weeks. During that time he had trouble walking and would often lose balance and simply collapse. That kitten was fucking hilarious. You might be thinking 'what the fuck, man!? Kitten with a neurological disorder, and you're laughing at it?!', allow me to explain. Due to his problem, I'm not sure that he had a grip on up or down. With enthusiastic and awkward vigour, he would climb EVERYTHING. He clearly derived great pleasure from latching on to your pant legs, and scaling your body. Table legs were no match for this spry young critter. If he could get his claws into something, he would climb the shit out of it. It was a pleasure to see him clumsily run up to you, climb onto your shoe, then continue to scale your leg.

In her youth, my mother had been in school to be a veterinarian, then she got knocked up which put a stop to that. Since she was knowledgeable in this field, we all knew this particular kitten wasn't likely to last, but we decided to keep him as long as he was around, be it for a handful of weeks, a month, a year, he was too fun to let go.

Unfortunately, he passed away. After about ten weeks, we were looking to place the mother cat and her kittens. We were going to separate them, but fortunately, one family took the mother cat and two of her remaining kittens. Since we were planning on keeping one, we kept the third survivor for ourselves.

The one we kept was all black, he was very large, and very languid, though not in a gluttonous way, he was very serene. He was exceptionally calm, and seemed to harbour no ill or negative thoughts toward anything. Given his strikingly similar appearance and contrary behaviour to the cat who had passed away while I was vacuuming, I had thought that maybe, this cat was a reincarnation of the one who had passed away, given a second chance at life with a new demeanour. This caused me to name him 'Buddha'. I'm an atheist, so I don't believe in reincarnation, an afterlife, or anything like that, but it's a nice thought.

Buddha only lived to be eight years old, passing away after a serious illness that we and two veterinarians tried to cure but we're unable to. Feeling remorse for the cat I had inadvertently killed and not wanting to repeat anything like that, I gave Buddha the best life I could, and I'm happy I was able to. I miss him.

tl;dr I accidentally kill a cat, get another one who looks like the dead cat, name him Buddha. Also a kitten with a neurological problem climbed my leg. A lot. Motherfucker climbed everyones leg.