The Cotton Cloud With Pointy Ears

Hi my friend,

It’s been a minute
since I last wrote to you.
And so much has happened.

The big news is -
we got a new kitten.
A little ragdoll boy,
who we named… 
Filbert.

He is the sweetest cat.
Always hopping around our house,
as if he’s chasing something invisible.
And then suddenly flopping down 
beside our feet…

ready to catch our toes
with his soft, furry paws.

He has brought
so much joy into our days.
Just writing about him
makes me smile.

But his story
will always begin 
with Hazel.

When our baby cat Hazel 
passed away,
I knew I wanted another cat.

Not to replace her.
No one could do that.
But to receive all this love
that was spilling out of us.
I wanted another little being
to be loved by us.

So I contacted the breeder…
And there he was.

A little boy.
A half-brother to Ivy and Hazel.
Ready to come into our home.

I think we loved him
from that very first photo 
she sent to us.

This tiny cotton cloud
with his pointy ears and 
a little dark nose.

And now he’s here.
Running through our home.

But his story…
will always begin with 
Hazel.

Because without Hazel leaving us,
there would be no room 
for Filbert.

And I’ve noticed
that when I say this,
people sometimes feel
a little uncomfortable.

Yes, they want to know 
what happened…
how did Hazel die?
but then they quickly 
move on.

Change the tone.
Shift the conversation
to something lighter.

Especially when 
my children are around.
As if talking about death
might be too much 
for them.

As if grief might be 
too heavy for them.

But the truth is…
my children love talking 
about Hazel.

They love remembering her.
Looking at her photos.
Making little videos of her.

Saying her name
as if she’s still part of
our everyday.

Yes, sometimes
the sadness comes.
Of course it does.

That’s what happens
when someone you love
is no longer in the living world.

But what confuses them
isn’t the sadness.

It’s the silence.

It’s the moment when 
someone changes the subject.
When the conversation
quietly closes around her name.

That’s when they look at me,
a little puzzled…
as if to ask -

Mom, why can’t we 
mention it?
Is it wrong to talk about 
Hazel?

And the answer is always…
No.

There is nothing wrong
with remembering.

There is nothing wrong
with saying her name.

There is nothing wrong
with loving someone
who is no longer here.

Because love
doesn’t follow those rules.
It doesn’t end when a life ends.

It keeps living.

Sometimes it 
turns into stories.

Sometimes -
into laughter. 
Or tears.

And sometimes…
It becomes a little kitten
with blue eyes and a habit of 
snekishly catching 
your toes.

But it always, 
always continues. 

With love,
Elina

Imagery / Our little Filbert, 2026