Our Starlight

It’s been two years since we said goodbye to Fluffy. People often say that time heals, but I’ve found that it doesn't necessarily make things easier—it just makes the silence a little more familiar. Lately, the world has felt particularly heavy and grey. In times like these, I find myself reaching for the memory of her, the brightest star we had to light the way through the darkness.

The Girl with Many Names

Fluffy didn’t start out as "ours" in the traditional sense. She was a neighborhood soul who eventually decided she liked our company enough to adopt us. Back then, she was a bit of a local mystery; every neighbor seemed to have a different name for her. We never truly knew what she was called before she met us, but the moment we saw her outside, we called her Fluffy.

I think she liked it. Whenever Michele or I would say her name, she’d give a little wag of her tail—her own way of telling us she appreciated the identity we gave her. Eventually, she moved from our porch into our hearts and, finally, into our home.

The Red Towel

You’d think a cat would want the fanciest toys, but Fluffy’s absolute favorite was the first thing we ever gave her: a simple red hand towel.

It provided hours of entertainment. We’d slide it across the carpet while she gave chase, or I’d wiggle a finger or a plastic stick underneath it just to watch her leap. When she finally wore herself out from the "hunt," she wouldn’t go to a fancy cat bed—she’d just curl up and fall asleep right there on her towel. It was a simple joy, but it’s one of the images of her I hold onto most tightly.

A Journey Guided by Love

In Thai tradition, it is customary to provide a meal for those who have passed away to help guide their soul on its journey. While I know in my heart that our angel was always destined for peace and didn't necessarily "need" the help, performing this ritual brings me a sense of comfort. It is a way to say, "You are still here with us. You are remembered."

Tonight, we are preparing fish—her favorite treat. We’ll be sharing that meal "with" her, remembering the special occasions when she’d get a little extra on her plate.

"Fluffy, we could use a little more of your light right now. But we’ll keep finding it in the memories you left behind."

I will always love you, Fluffy.

— Dad (Sam)