I never wanted a cat. I had a dog and a baby that was barely two. I had a childhood cat before but I can’t say that I was that close to it.
And somehow, I ended up with one who changed my life.
Hip Hop came to me as a kitten—small, unwanted, and on the verge of being sent to the SPCA. My friend’s mom didn’t want him, and even though I wasn’t thrilled about the idea, I couldn’t let that be his story. So I took him in, telling myself he was cute, Laura loved him and my dog enjoyed playing with him.
Eighteen years later, I was saying goodbye to one of the most loyal companions I’ve ever known.
In the beginning, Hip Hop and I weren’t exactly a perfect match. I wasn’t a “cat person,” and he quickly made it clear he wasn’t going to be just any cat. He had a personality—feisty at times, independent, and very sure of himself. My daughter Laura was only two when he arrived, and to her, he was more like a toy than a pet. Somehow, he tolerated it all. Patient when he needed to be, but never afraid to remind us he had boundaries.
But over time, something shifted.
Hip Hop chose me.
He would sit next to me, quietly, as if he understood everything I didn’t say out loud. During thunderstorms—when the world outside felt loud and unpredictable—he would curl up beside me and purr, steady and calming, like he was grounding us both.
He loved the simple things. Boxes, small containers, anything he could squeeze into like it was made just for him. When he was younger, he loved being outside, exploring his little world. Over the years, he shared our home with other cats and dogs, navigating it all in his own way.
But his heart always seemed tied to Laura.
During COVID, when the world slowed down and everything moved online, Hip Hop found his place in her room. While she worked on school, he sat with her—quiet, present, constant. In a time that felt uncertain for all of us, he became part of her routine, her comfort.
And then, like it always does, time caught up.
He slowed down. Ear infections came more frequently. His back legs started to hurt. The signs were subtle at first, then undeniable. Loving a pet means facing the moment you wish would never come—the moment where love asks you to let go.
It’s never an easy decision. We have been down this road with Lucky, Gus, Lady and Gemma. It is the price you pay when you love animals.
We chose in-home euthanasia. I never considered it before but I felt awful having his final moments in a cat carrier and unfamiliar surroundings. We wanted him to be where he felt safest—where he had lived, loved, and belonged.
When the vet came, everything was calm. She was phenomenal. Peaceful. Hip Hop went right into his basket, as if he understood. There was no fear, no chaos—just quiet.
Just love.
Saying goodbye broke my heart. I cried more than I expected, for longer than I thought I would. Because somewhere along the way, the cat I never wanted became a part of me.
Hip Hop wasn’t just a pet.
He was comfort during storms.
He was a quiet companion in the background of everyday life.
He was part of our family’s story.
And even though he’s gone, I know this much is true—
Love like that doesn’t disappear.
It stays. In the memories, in the quiet moments, in the spaces he used to fill.
His spirit will always be with us.
And somehow… I think he knew that all along.
