And for the next seven years, Jinx bloomed. She started out small—quiet, careful, content to curl into shadows. But little by little, she found her place. She claimed the coziest blankets, the warmest sunbeams, and eventually, our hearts. 

She was never loud, but she didn’t need to be. Her bravery was subtle—measured in tail flicks of confidence, bold leaps onto countertops, and the way she eventually demanded breakfast with a perfectly timed stare. 

She purred freely, blinked slowly when she loved you, and strutted through the hallways like they’d been built just for her. Safe. Steady. Fully her own. 

Wick gave her space.

Tigger gave her comfort.

And Jinx gave us grace. 

She taught us that soft could still be strong. 

When she passed, it was sudden. Peaceful. But the kind of loss that leaves a hush in the corners she once claimed. 

Wick didn’t go searching for a new sister. 

But he did start waiting by the door again. 

That’s when Timmie brought home Tigra. 

And Wick?

 Well… he wasn’t quite ready for her brand of chaos.