Farewell to Tatlı

Tatlı first found a home with a couple who were expecting a baby. When their child was born, they passed Tatlı on to a man living alone. In his new home, Tatlı refused to eat a single morsel for four days. He made it perfectly clear through his fierce character and conduct that he had no intention of staying there.

This man—evidently a kind soul—grew deeply worried for Tatlı, so he took him to the grocery shop where my dear friend Bergüzar happened to be working at the time. Bergüzar took Tatlı into her arms. Tatlı instantly rested his head upon her shoulder; she opened some food, he ate, she showed affection, and he returned it—they formed an instant bond of love.

Because Bergüzar worked long hours and was heavily immersed in her musical projects back then, she hesitated over whether she could take Tatlı in. Yet, she adored him and couldn't bear to leave him behind. Unable to decide on her own, she rang me up, explained the situation, and asked for advice. "At least he's eating now," I told her, "you could give it a try, and if it doesn't work out, we'll think of something." At that exact moment, I had an intuition that Tatlı would one day come to me, and that I would become his final, lifelong sanctuary.

Months rolled by. One day, Bergüzar needed to travel outside London and asked if I could mind Tatlı. "Of course," I replied. I was meant to look after him for just three days. He was so beautiful, so utterly sweet, that I simply didn't know how I would ever bring myself to give him back.

In those years, I was living in a studio flat. It was the first time I had moved away from my parents' house. It wasn't a massive space, but the sunlight pouring through the immense windows made my home feel incredibly warm. Tatlı was profoundly happy, dashing from one corner to the next. I felt exactly the same way. The moment I finished work, I would rush back home. Spending time with Tatlı was a absolute joy. I would even invite friends over on weekends simply so Tatlı wouldn't feel lonely. Tatlı was happy, and so was I.

Three days later, Bergüzar returned from her short break. She came to collect Tatlı, but I desperately wanted him to stay. Fortunately, Bergüzar noticed the bond and saw just how serene he was. "He is deeply happy here," she said. We reached an agreement then and there, and Tatlı came to live with me.

Shortly afterwards, circumstances in my life shifted. Tatlı and I moved houses. The two of us spent deeply solitary times together. We found happiness in each other's company, weathering even the hardest trials swiftly. Months after settling into our new home, Sarı joined us too. We had established our little family of three: Tatlı, Sarı, and me.

Tatlı's word was law. He set the rules, and I abided by them. Our new house had a garden too. At night, he would insist on going in and out ten times over, leaving me sleepless on countless occasions. Sometimes I would grow intensely frustrated, but Tatlı always won in the end.

Together, we changed houses five times in total. Moving is notoriously difficult for cats; they struggle to adapt, they hide, they run away... but Tatlı was different. As if granting me strength every single time, he would strut around with his head held high and his tail held high. He would take in and comprehend our new home in an instant, settling in without causing a single complication.

Tatlı would speak. He would stand before me and recount things, sometimes in a soft whisper, sometimes with a powerful voice. He insisted on drinking water straight from the tap. At times, I would find him fast asleep right inside the sink under the tap; it is impossible to describe the feeling that overcame me at those moments. It was thoroughly beautiful.

The years passed this way. We marked a full eleven years side by side. I came to realise that death knows no age. Whenever it arrives, it hurts with the exact same intensity.

During the first week of November, I noticed Tatlı had lost his appetite. To be precise, he was eating barely anything. I purchased every variety of food for him. I assumed he was struggling to eat due to old age or a potential dental problem. Deep down, I carried my fears; death is the absolute last thing people who form a family with animals want to entertain. It crossed my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to utter the words.

When his food intake dwindled to almost nothing, we rushed to the emergency vet. The moment the vet felt my little girl's heart, they knew instantly that she was terminally ill. They noted that we could attempt treatment, but she might pass away on the operating table, and wouldn't survive long regardless. My partner İbrahim and I looked at each other. We could feel that the time to bid farewell to our eldest daughter, the queen of our home, was drawing near. We held each other close, we wept, knowing down to our core that we were forced to make that horrific decision.

We couldn't bring ourselves to leave Tatlı alone with death at the hospital. We allowed them to administer the injection and medications they recommended to ease her discomfort for the day, then we took our girl and returned home.

The following day, no matter what we tried, she refused to eat. Our stubborn, proud, bead-eyed girl began hiding away in dark corners. Yet Tatlı used to spend her life perched atop the table, the sofa, or the kitchen counters; every space, everything was open to her, and she would bound from one surface to the next.

In the morning, the vet rang to deliver the blood test results. Sadly, they were grim. She was facing other systemic failures; "she will endure immense pain, you must make a decision urgently," they said. Our girl's suffering pierced our hearts, burning us inside. We kept wondering how she had managed to hide it so completely, questioning ourselves, our inquiries remaining entirely unanswered. It turns out that cats possess a remarkably high pain threshold, making it near impossible for us to detect.

Throughout that day, we waited and waited, hoping against hope that she might eat. We gently drew her out from the corners where she hid, bringing her to the sofa beside her siblings. To no avail. She possessed no strength left whatsoever. The illness was advancing rapidly. Her desire to be isolated stemmed from this. I looked into her eyes, held her close, kissed her, and took in her scent. We whispered "I love you" to one another over and over again. We shared a final farewell; we knew it was our last day together.

I called Bergüzar. Tatlı was deeply precious to her as well. We knew she would want to say her goodbyes. She was far away, yet she came running. She caressed her, kissed her, and held her close. The four of us set off together toward the vet. Throughout the journey, she sat on my lap, staring intently out of the window. It was as though she knew she would never look upon the nature she loved so dearly again, refusing to remain confined inside that tedious carrier box.

Within a world that rushes past, death was advancing upon us with an icy swiftness. Though the vet maintained a calm demeanor, we knew we had to act quickly. Our hearts ached profoundly, and our tears flowed like a torrential river.

We showered our flower with affection, kisses, and tenderness until her very last breath; she drifted into her final slumber nestled in the arms of the three of us.

Tatlı never cared for weeping or mournful sighs, yet we were utterly powerless to restrain our tears. Like every death, this one arrived far too early. My precious girl, who had been my life companion for so many years, was gone forever.

The days pass by. Life carries on. I braced myself swiftly for the sake of my other children, learning to smile through the lingering grief. My precious girl, my fierce character, my bead-eyed baby, my tap-water drinker, my lover of the streets, my chatterbox... without you, our home is completely silent; there is a massive void in our hearts, and a knot tightens in our throats.

It is impossible to know what lies beyond death; perhaps we will cross paths again one day, or perhaps this singular journey was all we were allotted—yet I want to express my gratitude to life for granting me a lifespan spent by your side. Even as the years roll by, I will honour you and Sarı as the most beautiful narratives of my life until my very last days, carrying your affection inside my heart for eternity. Rest in absolute peace, my flower. I will miss you intensely.