Imagine being a beloved fluffy little tuxedo kitty cared for by a kind elderly woman... you're the only kitty in an old creaky traditional japanese home, single floor, wood and stone, surrounded by a colony of strays that vary in their level of socialization and are fed by the elderly couple next door, and likely by the woman who cares for you as well. You are doted on and cherished for many beautiful years, years spent playing in the garden, cuddling in the woman's lap, naps in the sun, nothing but absolute love, and then one day, everything you know and have is ripped out from under you. The woman passes away. The family comes and adds a framed photo of her next to the shrine in the living room, joining her with her husband who passed years prior. She's gone, and just as the house is abandoned, left as a shrine, you too are abandoned. You are left behind. You have cancer. You don't know what cancer is. You don't know what to do. You wait, you hide, sometimes you get food from the elderly couple next door, but you grow weak, and the colony doesn't accept you. It only becomes more obvious as your illness progresses. You lose your nose, slowly at first, and then, it's just gone. You are impregnated. I'll never know how many were born but I can only confirm with any certainty that two survive. You didn't want to be a mother. I'll never know if it was your first litter– there were so many tuxedo cats within that few block radius. They could have been your parents, or siblings, or children. Yet none looked quite like you. Maybe you were born out there too just like your sons, and then found by the woman who so obviously loved you for so long. How loved you were really showed in your incredible ability to communicate with people. You knew what it meant to be understood, and paid careful attention in order to understand in equal measure, and to convey that understanding. You knew what it meant to be seen and known, and the significance it held. The night we met... I had recently added your son to the list of strays I fed. I believe it was my 3rd visit when you came out to introduce yourself. I panicked. I saw a cat in need and ran to grab my housemate's dog carrier and at first you were confused and bewildered and I figured you were just like the rest of the semi-feral strays I fed. I put you on the balcony and gave you food while I messaged rescues on the island begging for help. I was left on read or told they couldnt afford to take on a cat in this state. I was horrified. You, on the other hand, realized you weren't alone anymore. You had a secret wish, and I unknowingly granted it. You were delighted to be on my balcony. I was caught in a sudden strange dilemma— I assumed you were an immediate euthanasia case. But you saw in me the opportunity to have another chance at life. I was distraught to realize your delight at being brought to my balcony. Heartbroken that I knew I couldn't yet truly help you to the fullest extent that I wanted! My housemate had begrudgingly agreed to let me bring you on the balcony. I stayed up all night tossing and turning and crying and at 5am I put you back in the carrier and let you go where I found you outside the old wooden house. I knew it was better than the alternative. I'd just moved to a new country, I had no money, I had nowhere for you to go. My partner and I spent two months caring for you and your son outside. Every day I feared that something might happen to you out there. And every night you would come out of hiding to wait for me. Every night, I would hold you and promise you that you would never be alone again. You would have a home again. You have us. And then, we kept our promise to you. We gave you a home! You became stronger and happier every single day with us. I'm so grateful I had the chance to give that to you. The world feels better, having known you. You were a force of nature. The world shook when you died. Rest in peace, Baby.