Momo, before CATRIX
It started with one cat who wouldn't drink water.
Momo came to us as a stray, and she never quite learned to love her water bowl. Every vet visit came with the same warning about dehydration — so we started experimenting in the kitchen, looking for something creamy enough that she'd lick the bowl clean and get her fluids without ever knowing it.
What worked for Momo, we then tested on Cookie (who eats anything) and Mimi (who eats almost nothing). When all three cleared their bowls, we knew it was ready to share.
Cookie's story starts under the hood of a car. A routine tyre change turned into a rescue when the mechanic lifted the hood and found a kitten wedged inside the engine bay — soaked, soot-black, and barely recognisable. Engine compartments are a notoriously fatal hiding spot for strays chasing warmth; he was tiny, terrified, and lucky that someone looked twice.
One bath later, it turned out he wasn't black at all — he'd been orange the whole time. Within a week he'd decided the family was his: flopping belly-up at our feet, gnawing on fingers, wearing his first collar like he'd always had one. These days he's the biggest cat in the house, the loudest, and the fastest at clearing a bowl — because for one week of his life, there was nothing to eat at all.
Mimi arrived at two weeks old, before she was even weaned — earlier than planned, but the timing wasn't really ours to choose. So we became first-time "parents" on the spot: bottle feedings on the clock, round-the-clock cleanup, raising her the way you'd raise a newborn rather than a kitten.
That upbringing shaped exactly who she is. She trusts the two of us and no one else — every stranger gets the cold shoulder. But at home, she's all contradiction: too aloof to be picked up, yet the first to demand attention; a head-bump alarm clock every morning; silent until dinner's actually in the bowl. She still runs this house, and we still let her.
