The cat named Hymy at the shelter moved in with us in August 2016. We’d moved to Beyond Buckthorns a few months earlier and I was adamant to get a cat. During my city years I didn’t live with cats, but imagining an old farmhouse without a cat was a weird thought for me. Dominik had never lived with cats and was hesitant, but I got my way and we brought this cat, estimated four years of age, home with us from the local shelter on a sunny August day.
We gave her and us a few days to get to know each other and come up with a new name for her. She was kind and friendly from the first day onwards. We were silly and tried to limit her stay to some rooms at first, and let her out way too early, but soon things settled down. We named the cat Miss Sophie, as we serving her food like James in Dinner for one – all the time (even though it was only twice a day).
We’d hit the cat lottery jackpot. Sophie was kind, cuddly, purred like a helicopter, was playful and a real hunter. In the first years she annihilated the rat population and brought the mice population to a reasonable size, for which I was very thankful. She never tossed anything off the table, or bit or scratched us as long as we behaved. She learned her name and ”ruokaa” (”food”/”come eat”) and even listened to our calls sometimes. She loved hanging out with us in the garden and everywhere, given that she didn’t have more important cat business to tend to. She’d often lie in the shade of a longer plant in the garden and watch while me and mum were weeding, and she loved sleeping on the biogas system, too.
About one year after she’d moved in, she jumped on my lap one evening and lied down as usual. Somehow everything was different, though. She looked at me differently and I just knew she’d made up her mind: this was her home, we were her people and she wouldn’t be going away ever again.
And she didn’t. Miss Sophie died on 29th July 2026 and she has been buried very close to our house, next to a stone she often climbed on when she wanted to be seen from the window, usually because she wanted be let inside.
We had a lovely ten years together. I could tell a million stories of our time together. I still expect her to come running whenever I open the door, or keep listening if she’s at the feeding station. But now Sophie lives in our hearts, and she won’t be going away ever again.
We miss you and we love you, Miss Sophie, and we thank you for being the best friend one could imagine.
Miss Sophie
