Mocha

When I was two years old, our neighbor, Susan, who is a complete Cat Saint, and our family noticed a skinny homeless cat on our block. Susan, the Cat Saint she is, fed him and observed him, concluding he would be perfect for our family. We told Susan we would think about it, and fall became winter.

One particularly chilly night, with the weather looking even bleaker for the days ahead, we decided we would take the stray cat in, so we went over to Susan’s, let her know, found our new companion, and brought him home, with supplies Susan had given us. We played with our cat, whom we named Medium Decaf Milkshake With Whipped Cream On Top, Can You Split That Into Two Cups Please? after our favorite milkshake which he looked exactly like, being a siamese cat. We used to get that milkshake a lot. We called him Mocha as a nickname. The night got later, and Zach and I went to bed with Mocha curled by us, oblivious to what the morning had in store for us.

The weather was terrible the next morning! It was the biggest snow storm Portland had had in decades. We couldn’t even leave our house there was so much snow and it was so slippery! Mocha stared out the window, and I believe he truly knew he would of died during the night or the next few days to come if he wasn’t inside with us, and I think he was very grateful that we did take him in because why else would a cat let two little children drag him by his feet because they were too little to lift him? From that day forth, he loved us, and we loved him.

Me with Mocha My brother with Mocha

Stray animals died those few stormy days. Every year, 3,000-4,000 cats come into Multnomah County Animal Services. The majority of these cats come in during the warmer months of the year, also known as kitten season. There are homeless animal adoption teams which help them find homes, but sometimes pets have just been there for too long, and they have to put them down. This breaks my heart, so I’m so happy we got Mocha.

When we got Mocha, he was already an old man. He lived for a very long time, till he was 18 years old. He had two diseases and the cure for one of them made the other one worse. Sweet Mocha had never enjoyed going outside, but one night he was at the door, prodding at it. Usually, he just went and sat on the porch, but he went out further into the garden, knowing it was his time, wanting to die peacefully. We had Mocha till I was about eight or nine. 

We found a rock and wrote about Mocha in un-erasable marker. We put the rock in our backyard in the vines and had a funeral for him, inviting Susan and a few other neighbors who had known him well. Every time I venture into the vines in my backyard, I bring a flower for my sweet Mocha, my best friend, who I miss, and love. So much.