Goodbye Wiffy

29 January 2026

It feels selfish or silly to post about a dying cat when the world seems to be falling apart, but our little world felt like it fell apart earlier this month when we got the news that our cat, Wiffy, was killed in our backyard by another animal — likely a coyote. We weren’t planning on saying goodbye forever when we left Baton Rouge to come to Bangkok for my sabbatical. Wiffy had been living the dream life of an indoor-outdoor cat in the Baton Rouge suburbs for the last 7 years and we knew Bangkok life wouldn’t suit him, so we made the difficult decision to leave him behind. Wiffy was 12 years old and in good health, so we arranged for an LSU student to live in our home rent-free in exchange for looking after him.

Even if you think you’re doing everything right, sometimes it doesn’t work out, and in the worst possible way.

My mom called me with the news that something had killed Wiffy in the backyard. I sped home on my motorbike to tell Khai. Wiffy was her baby and constant companion. She got him as a kitten in 2013 just after we had met, so as long as I’ve known Khai, she’s had Wiffy. I even watched Wiffy as a kitten when she went out of town. Wiffy lived with Khai (and me) in so many important places in our lives. In Chiang Mai, he even did a stint with Esther and Rob at the “Nest.” He lived in Chiang Kong with Khai’s sister when Khai came to visit me in the US in 2015. And then, of course, he moved to Washington, DC, after Khai and I got engaged. He no doubt lived more than 9 lives, braving the rat-infested streets of Northwest DC. When we packed him into our moving van to drive down to Baton Rouge in August 2018, he was a trooper yet again. When we finally moved into our home on Valley Forge Ave, he loved the quiet, wide streets with many adventures to be found. A land to conquer. We installed a cat door for him, but he never used it (despite our attempts at training him), and insisted on waiting to be let in and out.

Hearing of Wiffy’s death made my heart sink, for Wiffy but more so for Khai. Khai’s parents died long ago, and Wiffy was one of her closest relationships. Whenever we went on trips, without fail, Khai would mention that she missed Wiffy within hours of departing. And it’s true that Wiffy was a remarkable cat. He was grumpy and stubborn, but also loved attention and was patient with those wanting to give him cuddles. In DC, he joined our house parties and late-night discussions, often sitting right in the center of the room. Our housemate Landon loved to spin him around on the floor. And our other friends, Trey and Kamilah, referenced Wiffy as a big reason they ended up getting a cat themselves. When our kids came along, Wiffy embraced them and treated them like his little family members. He patiently let them lie on him or tug his tail. And we often found him napping in their cribs or at the end of their beds.

Wiffy and I also had a special bond. Khai didn’t like sleeping next to Wiffy because his movements woke her up, so I became Wiffy’s heater in the winter months when he preferred sleeping with us. In the summer, it flipped, and he would explore at night and sleep during the day. Unsurprisingly Wiffy hated baths, but Khai insisted on bathing him often, and he came to accept his routine baths. Of course, he would often find my chest to lie on after a bath to try and warm up while he licked himself back to his version of clean.

It’s taken a while to post this, and I know it comes across as disorganized and stream-of-consciousness. That’ll have to do for now. The days have gotten better for Khai, but we both have a big hole in our hearts. I made a reel on social media, but it’s been hard to watch, and I’ve mostly wanted to avoid it. Perhaps a good thing to reflect on in my own grief process. And the world continues to grieve much bigger things than a beloved cat. But I’m learning that grief is not measurable in a way that would make it comparable in any useful way. It is deeply personal and idiosyncratic. It’s a journey.

Onward.