28/04/2026
It was 09/14/2022, my birthday. A fire had broken out in a barangay near us and someone reached out to tell us about two cats who had been caught in the flames. One of them was a white male senior cat with severe burns across his whole body. The vets were unsure if he was going to make it.
But he did. He made it. We named him Vivo.
The first day he came home to SoL, he was terrified. When I reached out to try to comfort him that first day, he bit me deep on the arm.
I was never angry at him. Because how could I be? This was a soul who had known nothing but pain and uncertainty and a world that had never been kind to him.
Slowly, he began to open up. Then one day he just settled beside me like he had always belonged there, and eventually he would crawl onto my leg, onto my chest, and rest. He learned to run to me when I called his name.
Vivo was one of our oldest residents and I always knew that our time had a horizon. This year that horizon drew close. He started losing weight.
Last month came the diagnosis. Pancreatitis. CKD. We knew what that meant and we held onto every remaining moment. Even then he stayed close. When I was working, when I was studying, he was right there beside me.
Last night, Vivo said goodbye.
More than four years of learning each other, of building trust from nothing, of proving to one tiny scarred soul that love is real and that safety is possible and that he mattered deeply. More than four years of him beside me, and now the space where he used to be feels like something we don't have the words for yet.
He came to us burned and nameless and barely alive. He leaves us as Vivo, a soul who came to know what home feels like, who learned that he was worth loving, who spent his final years as someone's cherished, irreplaceable boy.
Thank you for fighting to stay. Thank you for eventually letting me in. Thank you for every quiet night, every warm weight on my chest. Thank you for trusting us with the rest of your life. Thank you for the more than four years we shared.
Rest now, my sweet chubby old man. I will miss you every single day for the rest of my life. I love you always, always, always. We will find each other again.