🐾 Caturday: Remembering Murjan
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Some cats pass through your life. Murjan lived in mine. He wasn’t just a companion — he was a presence. A cat who sat at the Thanksgiving table in his own chair, waiting politely for his plate because he knew he belonged. A cat who walked on a leash like a gentleman explorer, then let the other cats parade him around the house afterward, leash trailing like a royal sash. In the evenings, we had our conversations. I’d talk; he’d listen, then answer with a slow, deliberate lick to my hand. Back and forth, like two old friends catching up after a long day. And when he was done, he’d rest his head on my lap and drift to sleep, content. He had opinions, too. When we moved without consulting him, he staged a full protest: escaped outside, rolled in mud, marched back to the door, shook it all over the floor, and stalked off — message delivered. Nineteen years with him wasn’t enough. But every memory is still warm. Happy Caturday, Murjan. You were one of a kind, and you are stil...
