The Cat Who Painted the Sunset Orange

By Ann Katagiri

*this story starts in Japan when I was 12 years old

We met on a day not much different from today. The wind was cool and breezy.

The sight of stray cats was not a rare one — there were a lot of them in my neighborhood. After almost 10 years of living there, I had made friends with all the strays around my house.

While I was playing catch in front of my house with my siblings, out of the corner of our eyes, we saw 4 pairs of cat eyes staring at the tennis ball we were throwing.

Lo and behold, there were four small kittens hidden behind some bushes, eager and curious. But there was only one kitten who couldn’t help himself from jumping towards the ball. I knew from the start this kitten was different; he acted on his curiosity. 

From that day forward, this little golden ball of fur showed up at our doorstep, wanting to play with our tennis ball. He looked up at us with his wide, adorable eyes, excited to see us again. Even if you couldn’t spot him, his ears would perk up, and he would come running at the sound of our bouncing tennis ball. 

As we were kids, we fed him leftover fish scraps and cat food, hoping he would have more reasons to come see us again. He was overjoyed by the treats and started to come over every day.

We weren’t allowed to have cats inside our rental house, so we sat out in the cold with him, using a blanket to keep warm. He would cuddle on our laps. He was the warmest thing I ever held. I didn’t know what purring was until he taught me it meant he was a happy kitty. 

Days turned into months, and we decided it was time to make him a comfortable bed. We used a cardboard box, some towels, and a blanket to make him his very own spot. He started sleeping there every night. He pawed at the blanket and started kneading it like it was bread he planned to bake. 

We named him Den because he was our very own golDEN kitty. I had always wanted a cat to call mine. 

As he grew older, he turned into a ball of golden fur so fluffy you could bury your face into his tummy. His long white whiskers brushed up and tickled your face. 

Most days, Den Chan (an honorific in Japanese used for kids and pets), while sunbathing, gazed into the distance with his soft eyes. Nothing scared him — he was invincible. The cruel outdoor world had raised him tough, but he was oh so sweet. He loved cuddles and being pet, often meowing for attention.  I still remember how he meowed as he huffed down his wet food, as if he were saying “thank you” in cat lingo. 

My family adopted him, but it always felt like he adopted us. Before we knew it, he was already a big part of our family. He even braved the scary airplane ride when my family moved from Japan to Texas and continued to love playing with us in our new apartment. 

He was the meow we woke up to and the meow we came home to. In a way, he held our family together, even across oceans. Our family had our differences, but Den Chan was the common reason for love and laughter. He taught us that love mattered and that we should love each other, always relishing the love we showed him. 

The patience he showed to us 3 kids throughout his life was beyond admirable. He even willingly took a stray kitten in, as a father would. It was as if he knew what she was going through and cared to make her feel like she was a part of the family, too. 

When the weather was nice outside, we would go on short walks. His eyes would sparkle in the sun while he blended into the sunset. As of 6 years ago, he is now forever part of the sunset. I’ll never forget the tears I saw my dad cry when we knew we wouldn’t get to see him again. It was one of the saddest days of my life. 

A part of me always wonders if he’s the one who continues to make my heart warm and fuzzy every time I see a sunset. He will forever live on in our memories and through my debut children’s books, which I dedicated to the loving cat he was.

RIP Den Chan. I hope the books about you put a smile on your face in kitty heaven.

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