"Tanya" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Liam had not meant to stop that day.
He was simply walking past the cages—rows of glass and wire, the hum of fluorescent lights, the faint chorus of small lives waiting. Then it happened: a soft, insistent tug. A gray paw reached through the bars and hooked his sleeve with surprising determination, as if to say, You. Don’t go any farther.
When he turned, he saw her.
A small bundle of gray fur, eyes bright with certainty, gaze steady and unafraid. There was no deliberation, no weighing of options. Love arrived fully formed, immediate and undeniable. Minutes later, he walked out of the store with her tucked into his arms, her body warm against his chest, as if she had always belonged there.
He named her Tanya.
From that day forward, they were family.
Their home had hardwood floors that gleamed in the afternoon light, and a narrow hallway softened by small area rugs. Tanya discovered early on that these rugs were not merely decorative—they were launchpads. She would take a running start, leap onto one with theatrical flair, and slide the length of the hallway, paws splayed, tail aloft, utterly delighted with herself. Liam laughed every time, no matter how many times he’d seen it.
She was clever. Brave. Fiercely loving.
Once, in the dead of night, she leapt onto his chest, pawed his face, refused to be ignored. When he finally woke, the smell of smoke was already in the air. Tanya did not stop until he was fully awake, fully alert. She had saved his life. He never forgot it.
She loved car rides—front paws on the dashboard, eyes wide and curious, the world unfolding mile by mile.
When they made the long drive from the Midwest to San Francisco, nearly two thousand miles of road, she was his constant companion. Together they crossed plains and mountains, sunrise and dusk, motel rooms and open highways. Like Liam, Tanya turned out to be a Californian at heart. She settled into their new life with ease and confidence, as though the golden light had been waiting for her.
In their San Francisco apartment, she claimed her favorite spot: the floor-to-ceiling living room window. From there she watched the Spanish-style house across the street, its red clay tile roof glowing in the sun. Perhaps it was the architecture she admired—or perhaps the birds, the passing shadows, the quiet drama of the neighborhood. She would sit there for long stretches, tail wrapped neatly around her paws, utterly content.
She loved being held. Truly held. Curled against Liam’s chest, purring low and steady, as if reassuring them both that all was well.
Then came the day that changed everything.
A casual belly rub. A pause. A lump beneath his fingers. The vet’s voice was kind but firm. Cancer. Time, suddenly measured differently.
Tanya met it with grace.
Liam stayed close. He always did. And when the time came—when love had done all it could—he let her go with the same devotion with which he had welcomed her in. Even now, years later, he missed her. Some loves do not fade. They simply become quieter, deeper, part of the air we breathe.
And yet—Tanya loved Christmas.
She left the tree alone, dignified and respectful, but wrapping paper? That was another matter entirely. She dove through it, shredded it, reveled in the crinkle and chaos, chased ribbons across the floor like living streams of joy. Somewhere, Liam knew, there existed a photograph of his first California Christmas tree—ornaments glowing, lights soft—and Tanya’s proud, upright tail photobombing the scene. Proof, if any were needed, that joy insists on being included.
On certain December mornings, Liam could almost hear the rustle of wrapping paper again. Almost see her slide down the hallway, triumphant.
Almost feel her weight in his arms.
* * * * * * * * * *
It is still dark outside this solstice morning. Bitterly cold. Sub-zero. The kind of cold that sharpens the stars and hushes the world.
Inside the wee cottage, warmth gathers like a blessing. The furnace hums faithfully. A fire crackles in the fireplace. A Christmas mug, filled to the brim with hot, delicious coffee, warms my hands. Contentment settles in—not loudly, not extravagantly, but surely.
KDFC fills the rooms, carrying a Luigi Boccherini string quartet through the quiet. The music seems to hover, as if it knows how fragile and perfect this moment is.
A thought drifts through my mind—perhaps Buddha, perhaps simply wisdom that belongs to everyone:
Every day you have two choices: see problems or possibilities.
Complain or be grateful.
Live in fear or live in faith.
The difference between a heavy heart and a peaceful one is perspective.
Gratitude and joy aren’t just feelings—they’re decisions.
Choose them, and your life changes.
I take another sip of coffee. I let the words settle.
Today, I choose gratitude.
I choose joy.
I think of Tanya—of love that arrived unannounced and stayed faithful to the end. Of companionship, of courage, of small gray paws that changed the course of a life. I smile.
And so this day begins.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Some souls do not pass through our lives.
They settle there, and everything becomes warmer because of it.”
~Wylddane
He was simply walking past the cages—rows of glass and wire, the hum of fluorescent lights, the faint chorus of small lives waiting. Then it happened: a soft, insistent tug. A gray paw reached through the bars and hooked his sleeve with surprising determination, as if to say, You. Don’t go any farther.
When he turned, he saw her.
A small bundle of gray fur, eyes bright with certainty, gaze steady and unafraid. There was no deliberation, no weighing of options. Love arrived fully formed, immediate and undeniable. Minutes later, he walked out of the store with her tucked into his arms, her body warm against his chest, as if she had always belonged there.
He named her Tanya.
From that day forward, they were family.
Their home had hardwood floors that gleamed in the afternoon light, and a narrow hallway softened by small area rugs. Tanya discovered early on that these rugs were not merely decorative—they were launchpads. She would take a running start, leap onto one with theatrical flair, and slide the length of the hallway, paws splayed, tail aloft, utterly delighted with herself. Liam laughed every time, no matter how many times he’d seen it.
She was clever. Brave. Fiercely loving.
Once, in the dead of night, she leapt onto his chest, pawed his face, refused to be ignored. When he finally woke, the smell of smoke was already in the air. Tanya did not stop until he was fully awake, fully alert. She had saved his life. He never forgot it.
She loved car rides—front paws on the dashboard, eyes wide and curious, the world unfolding mile by mile.
When they made the long drive from the Midwest to San Francisco, nearly two thousand miles of road, she was his constant companion. Together they crossed plains and mountains, sunrise and dusk, motel rooms and open highways. Like Liam, Tanya turned out to be a Californian at heart. She settled into their new life with ease and confidence, as though the golden light had been waiting for her.
In their San Francisco apartment, she claimed her favorite spot: the floor-to-ceiling living room window. From there she watched the Spanish-style house across the street, its red clay tile roof glowing in the sun. Perhaps it was the architecture she admired—or perhaps the birds, the passing shadows, the quiet drama of the neighborhood. She would sit there for long stretches, tail wrapped neatly around her paws, utterly content.
She loved being held. Truly held. Curled against Liam’s chest, purring low and steady, as if reassuring them both that all was well.
Then came the day that changed everything.
A casual belly rub. A pause. A lump beneath his fingers. The vet’s voice was kind but firm. Cancer. Time, suddenly measured differently.
Tanya met it with grace.
Liam stayed close. He always did. And when the time came—when love had done all it could—he let her go with the same devotion with which he had welcomed her in. Even now, years later, he missed her. Some loves do not fade. They simply become quieter, deeper, part of the air we breathe.
And yet—Tanya loved Christmas.
She left the tree alone, dignified and respectful, but wrapping paper? That was another matter entirely. She dove through it, shredded it, reveled in the crinkle and chaos, chased ribbons across the floor like living streams of joy. Somewhere, Liam knew, there existed a photograph of his first California Christmas tree—ornaments glowing, lights soft—and Tanya’s proud, upright tail photobombing the scene. Proof, if any were needed, that joy insists on being included.
On certain December mornings, Liam could almost hear the rustle of wrapping paper again. Almost see her slide down the hallway, triumphant.
Almost feel her weight in his arms.
* * * * * * * * * *
It is still dark outside this solstice morning. Bitterly cold. Sub-zero. The kind of cold that sharpens the stars and hushes the world.
Inside the wee cottage, warmth gathers like a blessing. The furnace hums faithfully. A fire crackles in the fireplace. A Christmas mug, filled to the brim with hot, delicious coffee, warms my hands. Contentment settles in—not loudly, not extravagantly, but surely.
KDFC fills the rooms, carrying a Luigi Boccherini string quartet through the quiet. The music seems to hover, as if it knows how fragile and perfect this moment is.
A thought drifts through my mind—perhaps Buddha, perhaps simply wisdom that belongs to everyone:
Every day you have two choices: see problems or possibilities.
Complain or be grateful.
Live in fear or live in faith.
The difference between a heavy heart and a peaceful one is perspective.
Gratitude and joy aren’t just feelings—they’re decisions.
Choose them, and your life changes.
I take another sip of coffee. I let the words settle.
Today, I choose gratitude.
I choose joy.
I think of Tanya—of love that arrived unannounced and stayed faithful to the end. Of companionship, of courage, of small gray paws that changed the course of a life. I smile.
And so this day begins.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Some souls do not pass through our lives.
They settle there, and everything becomes warmer because of it.”
~Wylddane
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