In Loving Memory of Kenzo

健三 (Kenzō)

(2012–2023)

Kenzo in the sink (Harlem, 2013)

On May 16th, our sweet Kenzo was laid to rest. He departed painlessly, with mercy as a respiratory-related medical condition suddenly became insurmountable. It wasn’t fair. I’ve had a couple weeks to process it and it still feels really bad. Having lived with pets my whole life, I’m bitterly familiar with the incongruence between our lifespans, but… this time aches the hardest. 

Kenzo was adopted from the ASPCA in East Harlem in 2012, shortly after Becky and I moved in together, before we were married. He quite literally made us a family. Instantly, baby Kenzo charmed us with unique, quirky cat mannerisms: sleeping curled up in the sink, learning to fetch, insisting to be hydrated exclusively by the trickle of the bathtub faucet. His hilarious habits, emotive vocabulary of meows, and dozens of nicknames became a ubiquitous part of our everyday lexicon for over a decade. 

To our home guests, he was a divisive figure for his penchant to hang out among everyone, while standing his ground intransigently at any perceived infraction of his personal space (the occasional, well-aimed swipes were a cause for apology). Online, the only place most could catch a glimpse of his sweetie side, he was a charismatic “calendar cat” or with the right filter, just a “spooky pair of eyes”. But he saved his sweetest side for his two parents – Kenzo loved me and Becky more than I’ve ever been loved by a pet. This cat adored us. He was affectionate, but also the most emotionally complex animal I’ve ever known, giving us a feline lifetime to know him ever more deeply. 

In the end, as we each said our goodbyes, I looked into those big green googlies, they looked back at me. I felt so much emotion shared in that moment: comprehension, of the reason why we went to the place where they make the hurt go away; gratitude and love, for his two people who gave him the comfiest life from adoption in kittenhood and ensured he’d never be abandoned again; calmness and clarity, that he certainly knew exactly what was going on and was ready. I held his little head in the final moments, our hands on his belly as his labored breathing slowly calmed to a close. 

Kenzo is survived by his younger cat-sibling, Chiyo, who is certainly feeling the vacuum in domestic activity. She plays on Kenzo’s catnip blanket (it’s covered in his drool), and sleeps in his old spot at the far corner of the bed. Becky and I are treating ourselves with extra kindness this season. We miss him a lot. Kenzo was an unforgettable presence in the most incredible decade of our lives. I’ll carry his memory forever.