for mikimoto
On New Years Eve, while hosting a few dear friends, snacking on frozen pizzas, playing Balderdash, and making homemade noise makers, we found Mikimoto, our beloved cat, nearly passed out in the basement. Christian took him to the emergency vet, accompanied by a close friend, and we stayed back home awaiting any news, trying to maintain a normal celebration. We rang in midnight without them.
The vet drew up bloodwork and examined Mikimoto. We knew he had been ill, taking steroids for enlarged lungs, sleeping more, eating less. The emergency vet discovered internal bleeding and there wasn't a lot they could do. At around 2am on January 1, Christian made the difficult but important decision to euthanize Mikimoto. Ada, Perrin and I FaceTimed in from home to say goodbye.
Mikimoto had just turned 17 on December 18. He was deeply cherished by his pack members, and anyone fortunate to meet him, pet sit him, or see him at the vet. We honored him with a ceremony on New Years Day, a photo album of our favorite pictures, poster board of images, flowers in his cat bed. Mikimoto was more than just a pet or pack member: as all the creatures around us, he brought lessons. I captured these in my eulogy that I've shared below.
It feels like a cruel world to take away a source of joy at a time of such darkness. But I know that’s not actually the world, that’s my grief verbalizing its pain. Because what the world did, what the universe did, was put Mikimoto in our lives.
Mikimoto embodied selfless love. Unconditional care. Not because he was naive or one-dimensional, because he was purely genuine and authentic. Sometimes that’s hard to recognize when we see so little of it.
As a creature among us, he led with love. An unflinching love that welcomed strangers. A curious love that crouched toward a couch with a grumpy, sleeping dog because Mikimoto was determined to cuddle with her. Time and time again. Literally, time and time again, Mikimoto attempted to snuggle up to Sid until his final days.
Mikimoto was born some time in December of 2008. We celebrated him on the 18th. While I wasn’t there, I’ve heard countless stories of how he won over an older cat, his late older brother, Theo, and how he welcomed two human babies. How he made sure since Ada and Perrin were born that they felt his care. It was ritual every night for Mikimoto to help put them to bed, waltzing between their rooms. He loved curling up with Ada while she drew. He always responded to her special hand motion and kiss noise. He loved sleeping under Perrin’s bed on her fuzzy green blanket.
Mikimoto supported Christian through the transition of Ada and Perrin living in two homes. He supported us through lockdown and the summer of a global uprising. He supported us as we worked each day from home, snug in our laps, or in his special two-story basket, or the bin with blankets. He took to a round teal ottoman that he demanded we not donate by throwing himself on top in a peaceful protest as it sat by the back door ready to be loaded up. He won, and it remained in Christian’s office, a perfect perch for him to help Christian code. For me, he welcomed Sid and I into his home and I felt his love immediately. I don’t have a single friend or know of a single petsitter we had that didn’t adore Motes. I don’t know of a single toddler that didn’t find glee shoving him into his cat door and he was the kinda chill dude that went along for the ride.
To know Motes was to know joy. To know the silliness of getting your head stuck in a yogurt container. To know the power of connection. To know the importance of being there for one another.
Wherever Motes’ energy is now I know a piece of it remains forever with me. Guiding me to love in the face of fear, holding me when I’m worried, and reminding me that living a life centered in warmth and care opens us up to boundless joy. Thank you Mikimoto, Motes, Motesy Fotesy, Mr. Motes.
