Mochi Tanaka

Mochi Tanaka ruled his Seattle apartment with the measured patience of a tiny emperor. A silver tabby with sharp opinions and softer paws than seemed physically possible, he had a habit of supervising every zoom call from just off camera, blinking judgment at whoever spoke too loudly. He adored sunny windows, salmon treats, and the exact chair a guest had hoped to use. He was also, against all evidence, deeply affectionate. Each night Mochi made the same rounds, checking on every room before curling against his person’s knees with a sigh that sounded suspiciously human. His absence is felt in the stillness of the windowsill, the untouched toy mouse under the credenza, and the strange emptiness of a home no longer being monitored by a cat who clearly thought he built it himself.