Sox
November 2025 ~ 08 January 2026

Not all stories are successes 

Sox:

Sox was one of the first cats we came to know—another brother of Mouse and Timtim, all part of the same quiet little family that seemed to appear from the same place.

Back then, it was Mouse and Sox who were always here. Mouse was the cautious one, always watching from a distance, never quite sure if humans could be trusted. Sox was braver. He would come closer, eat first, and in his own way, he taught Mouse that we were safe.

The two of them were inseparable. They played together, slept nearby, and often shared food from the same bowl without a single disagreement. In fact, that whole family seemed to have the gentlest nature—no confrontation, no fighting, even as entire toms. If anything startled them, they ran for cover rather than standing their ground.

One day, while we were in town in Blenheim, I got a message from our neighbour asking if we were home. I said we were about forty minutes away.

When we arrived back, our neighbour Clifford came over to see me. He said, “That little tabby and white cat—the one you’ve been feeding with the brother—I think he got hit by a car. He’s over here.”

He led me to the side of the road, where his small body lay.

Even though he was already stiff, and ants had begun to crawl over him, I scooped him up and carried him back to our yard, trying hard not to cry in front of Clifford. He kept saying how sorry he was. They had only just gotten home themselves when they found him there.

I thanked him, and asked Brett to grab a shovel so we could bury him.

The hardest part was that he didn’t even have a name yet.

It was still early in all of this—early in learning who they were, in understanding their personalities, in realising this was becoming more than just putting food out for strays. I was still waiting to know him well enough to name him properly.

We buried him, and afterwards I made a small marker for his grave.

I wrote: Sox.

When he was just a street cat, he had no name. He was unwanted, unseen, and easily overlooked.

But I noticed him.

I was too late to give him a name while he was alive.

But at least he didn’t leave this world nameless.

He has a name now.

Sox.