Luna

Luna ruled our home with quiet confidence for eleven years. She chose the warmest patch of sun in any room and considered it her throne. She wasn't a lap cat for just anyone — but if she curled up on you, you knew you'd been chosen, and it felt like an honor.

She had a chirp instead of a meow, a habit of knocking exactly one pen off the desk each morning, and an uncanny sense of when you'd had a hard day. On those days she'd simply appear and stay.

The sunbeams still move across the floor every afternoon. We like to think she's somewhere warm. Sleep well, our little queen.