My cat’s name was Pancake. But really, she was more outlaw than breakfast food.
She loved cardboard boxes, waking me at 5 a.m., and—more than anything—catnip. One time she dug through my Whole Foods groceries, bypassed kale and chicken, and fished out a tiny tin of catnip. Then rolled on the floor like a fluffy drama queen.
I laughed and filmed her. “You should be on Netflix.”
Then one day… she stopped.
No more rolling. No reaction to toys. She just sat quietly near the cupboard.
The vet said her kidneys were failing. “No more catnip,” he said.
She never begged. Never whined. Just… sat. Watching.
A month later, she passed in her sleep.
While cleaning up, I opened the tin. Just to remember.
At the bottom—one tiny bite mark.She hadn’t stopped loving it. She just didn’t want me to feel guilty.
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