“Squirrel,” as I used to call her, known at home as Asya, became part of our little family when we were young students just starting our life together. She was a mix of a ginger Persian father and a small, ordinary European Shorthair mother rescued from the streets by a family. In our home, Asya was truly a “city girl.”

In the spring of 2011, this little ginger troublemaker brought our home to life with her daily zoomies, sunrise wake-up calls, and endless curiosity. She would “fly” after sparrows from the third floor straight into the grass, travel with us by bus, train, or car, and constantly “complain” about being in her carrier.

She was never just a cat – she was a family member, and she seemed to know it. Her fur smelled like spiced cookies, which is why my husband called her Cookie. Asya always made her opinion known about everything she liked… and everything she didn’t.

The bathroom, the fridge, and the windowsill were her absolute priorities. During renovations, I even widened the windowsill because I knew she would love it. She was always full of energy – lively, athletic, never still. We always knew she would be waiting behind the door, sniffing our bags as if asking:
“What did you bring me, my servants? 😁”

And she truly seemed surprised if there wasn’t a treat inside.

The first signs of aging appeared in 2020, when she began eating less. I was always grateful for how patiently she behaved at the vet, as if she understood why it was necessary. Though on the way home, she certainly expressed her annoyance privately.

People often thought she was a male cat because a green-eyed ginger female is so rare. She looked tall and long-eared, like a fox, with the wise gaze of an old soul. She let people get close only on her terms, guarding her boundaries. But I always knew – if she allowed someone to pet her even once, that person was truly good.

The three of us went through many moves, hardships, joys, and even the occupation in 2022 – and Asya remained gracefully composed throughout.

During the last two years, her condition worsened. Special food and treatment kept her stable for a while, but age and the slow decline of her kidneys became irreversible.

Just before Christmas 2024, I woke up to a strange sound – my elderly Bilka had collapsed, her legs paralyzed and trembling. She simply fell quietly and didn’t make a sound, as if she didn’t want to disturb us.

I wrapped her in her favorite soft blanket. I didn’t want to believe it was the end of her journey, and that I would have to make the heartbreaking decision to end her suffering by calling the vet.

With her last strength, she gently squinted her eyes, as if she understood why we were crying and petting her for the last time.

It was unbearably painful, and nearly 15 years of our life together flashed before my eyes. We grew up together, lived our life together, always knowing that our Cookie was waiting for us at home…

Now she is gone, and it hurts so much.

But I am grateful that 15 years ago someone changed their mind and didn’t adopt her – that’s how she ended up with us: so lively, independent, demanding, and deeply loving.

We miss you terribly.
You will always be our first family cat… ❤️