In early 2017, we moved into our house after a renovation that started when we got the keys in November the previous year. By July, after a holiday in Paris, we decided to get a cat. We found someone giving away kittens and planned to take a small Calico we named Eevee. However, when we arrived to pick her up, they told us her brother, Kamino, also needed a home. The family who had planned to take him had backed out at the last minute. He was originally called Stuart, he was grey and white, with “grumpy eyes” that we found incredibly cute. After a quick phone call, we decided to take him too. And just like that, our little family grew.
Kamino and Eevee were only a 8 weeks old when they came home with us, full of energy and curiosity. They ran around our still-unfinished house, their tiny paws clattering across bare floors. We loved them instantly.
As they grew, Kamino began to show his mischievous side. He had a knack for causing chaos in the middle of the night—pulling down curtains, knocking things over, and meowing at the door as he pawed at it, keeping us awake. He developed a peculiar habit of jumping at the wall, seemingly obsessed with tiny bumps from painting or plastering. He would crouch, focus intently, and then leap, flipping about like a little acrobat.
In March of the following year, we started letting them outside just during the day initially. Kamino loved the freedom but still kept his quirky personality. He had a thing for cardboard boxes… put one out, and he’d immediately claim it, no matter how small. His relationship with Eevee was love hate, they often scrapped, chased, and pounced on each other, usually initiated by Kamino. But there were loving moments too, like when they curled up together in the cat bed to sleep or groom each other.
Kamino was endlessly entertaining. He would bat Christmas baubles around the room no matter the season and loved soaking up the summer sun outdoors. One summer night, he went missing, and we discovered he’d gotten stuck in a neighbor’s garage. I remember walking around in the cold, searching and stressing, then finally sleeping downstairs on the couch, waiting for him to come home. He eventually returned and, as if nothing had happened, began meowing for food right away.
As the years passed, Kamino mellowed. He spent more time indoors, relaxing and making our house feel like his own. He would blink slowly at us, a cat’s way of showing trust, and stretch out for belly rubs, completely at ease.
When our first child was born in the summer of 2021, the cats took a backseat for a while. Kamino didn’t seem to mind; he adapted to the changes in stride. By the time our second child arrived in 2023, Kamino and Eevee were returning to their old routines, spending more time with us again and even interacting with the little ones. Kamino took his usual spot on the corner of the couch, just like he had in the early days. At night, he would patiently sit by the cupboard where the cat food was kept, waiting for his meal before we went to bed. As winter set in, he and Eevee would curl up together in the cat bed, cozy and content.
Yesterday morning, there was a knock at the door at 7 a.m. A man from the animal care unit handed me Kamino’s collar. He had been hit by a car on the road just a minute from our house. His body was still warm, his winter fur still fluffy. He was gone.
Kamino was with us for seven and a half years, a constant presence in our lives. We wanted him to grow old with us, to be here for many more years. He was more than a pet, he was family. We will miss him so much.
