Chapter One: A Return to Words
Hello again.
I promised myself I would keep this blog going—keep writing, keep documenting the little things that make up this big, messy life. But sometimes, life gets in the way. The past few weeks have been heavy, but not without light. In fact, last month brought us joy in the form of a new furmily member: a little black kitten we named Kohl.
Kohl came into our lives unexpectedly, as many good things do. He was a helpless kitten hiding under a neighbor’s car, scared and alone, with a pack of stray dogs roaming nearby. My sister and I didn’t think twice. We scooped him up and brought him to safety. We weren’t planning to adopt another cat—we already had five—but leaving him behind wasn’t an option.
A month has passed since that day, and Kohl has flourished in our care. He’s playful, curious, and adored by his new siblings—Skye, Finn, their mom Luna whom we adopted last year and Katsumi whom we also adopted in 2022. The family of 3 just celebrated their first adoptsary on May 9. It’s been a beautiful thing, watching our home expand with love.
But life, as always, has its way of balancing joy with sorrow.
Chapter Two: The Slow Goodbye
In the last two weeks of May, we noticed our beloved senior cat, Atari, was losing weight at an alarming rate. He was 13, and while he had slowed down over the years, this felt different. We brought him to the vet, and he was confined overnight. The next day, he was sent home—eating, drinking, seemingly stable.
But I could tell something wasn’t right. His right arm, where the IV was inserted, began to swell. Another vet visit. Another round of antibiotics. Still, he ate, still he drank. But the strength in his legs began to fade. Two days ago, he couldn’t stand on his own. He dragged himself to the litter box. He stopped eating. He stopped drinking.
Then came yesterday.
My sister called his name that morning, but he didn’t respond.
Atari was gone.
Chapter Three: The Cat Who Chose Us
Atari was more than a pet. He was a constant in our ever-changing lives, a witness to our grief, our growth, our love. He didn’t come from a shelter or a pet store. He chose us.
It was 2012. My twin sister and I were preparing for work when we heard a kitten crying outside. We opened the door, and there he was—a chubby ginger boy who rolled over on the floor like he already knew he belonged to us. He walked in and never left.
Our elder sister, hesitant about having a cat, was unsure at first. But even she couldn’t deny how special he was. We later found out he had belonged to our next-door neighbor. She found him by the highway and tied him outside her house with a ribbon so her dog wouldn’t hurt him. But Atari had other plans—he escaped and came straight to us.
When the neighbor saw him with us, she was relieved. She knew he had found the right home.
Chapter Four: Between Homes and Hearts
When we moved to a new apartment that didn’t allow pets, we left Atari in the care of our parents. It was a painful decision, but necessary. Thankfully, they lived nearby, and we visited often. Our mom, in particular, took care of him like her own child.
Then, in 2013, tragedy struck.
Our mother passed away suddenly. A family friend told us that just hours before, she and Atari were having a "fight"—he wouldn’t stop bugging her during dinner. Maybe he sensed something. Maybe animals really can smell death.
We moved back into our family home for a while. Life became quieter. And then, eventually, louder again. New jobs. A new house. New routines. But through it all, Atari remained—the one familiar thread tying our story together.
Chapter Five: The Fighter
Years went by. Atari, ever the curious soul, remained an outdoor cat. But the world outside isn’t always kind. One day, he came home covered in dirt and blood with a severe tail injury. We rushed him to the vet, where his tail had to be amputated. It was horrifying—but he pulled through.
We had him neutered. Still, he wandered. Still, he fought. Eventually, after an incident with a neighbor, we made the decision to bring him indoors permanently. He adapted, gracefully aging into his role as the wise elder among a growing pride of cats.
Chapter Six: Love in Numbers
As Atari aged, we began to notice the subtle signs of time: slower movements, occasional digestive issues. We changed his diet, gave him more wet food, and surrounded him with love. But we sensed he needed a companion.
That’s when Katsumi, a spirited calico, came into our lives in 2022. And just like that, Atari found his spark again. He played, he cuddled, he thrived.
Then came Luna, Finn, and Skye—a stray cat family we welcomed in last year.
And finally, Kohl, our unexpected May rescue.
Even as our attention was split between them all, Atari remained our center. The wise one. The soul of the house.
He passed away in the early morning hours, quietly and peacefully.
Thirteen years of life. Our mother passed in 2013. I don’t believe in coincidences.
I believe they were soulmates.
Chapter Seven: The Weight of Goodbye
We had Atari cremated, just like our mom. His ashes now sit beside our altar—a spirit who shaped our lives in ways no words can fully express.
The house feels different now. Quieter. A little emptier. Healing is a slow process, and I know it will take time. I still expect to see him lying in his favorite spots or hear his soft meows at night.
If you've never loved a pet, you may not understand. But losing one is like losing family.
Because they are family.
Atari wasn’t just a cat.
He was our history. Our joy. Our heartbreak. Our love.
Epilogue: Until We Meet Again
I hope my mom was there, waiting for him at the edge of the rainbow bridge.
No more pain. No more sickness.
Just peace.
Goodbye, Atari.
Thank you for choosing us.
