08/11/2026
⚠️ Fair warning: this is a LONG post
Like... go get a beverage and settle in long.
But I think this story is worth telling properly so we're doing this my way.
Also, a small content warning: this story does mention the loss of a beloved pet. Omen and Abyss are absolutely fine. Nobody panic. The tiny queens of Echoes remain alive, well, spoiled, and presumably plotting something.
This story is about someone else.
Some of you may remember that a few months ago, I posted a picture of a rather suspicious black-and-white cat who had started appearing outside Echoes.
I was trying to figure out where he belonged.
Nobody knew and nobody claimed him.
And then I never really told you what happened after that.
So.........
I suppose it is finally time to introduce you to Grimalkin.
But unfortunately for everyone involved, this requires a story.
And we're going to have to back up a little.
Some of you knew that my cat Oliver had been struggling with health problems. Oliver had been with me for fifteen years. What I didn't share very publicly was that at the beginning of March, Oliver crossed the veil.
I was devastated.
Fifteen years is a long time to share your life with a creature, at some point they're not really a pet anymore. They're woven into the architecture of your existence, your routines, memories, home, and expectations about what happens when you walk into a room.
And then suddenly they're gone.
I wasn't looking for another cat.
And yet.
About a month later, this black-and-white creature started appearing outside Echoes.
He looked a little rough.
Nothing obviously catastrophic. Just... a gentleman who had very clearly been making some questionable life choices.
And he was INSANELY friendly.
The first time I interacted with him, this strange cat who did not know me just flopped onto his back and requested belly rubs.
Actual belly rubs.
Not the standard cat arrangement where they display the forbidden tummy as bait and then activate all four murder feet when you fall for it.
No.
This fluffer genuinely wanted his belly rubbed.
Which was particularly unfair because Oliver loved belly rubs too.
So you can probably see where this was headed.
Still, I wasn't going to start kidnapping random cats from the parking lot simply because they had excellent interpersonal skills.
I posted his picture.
I asked around.
I tried to figure out if someone was missing him.
Nothing.
No leads. No frantic owner. Nobody recognized him. Nobody claimed him.
Meanwhile, he kept coming back.
So I fed him.
And he came back again.
So I fed him again.
And eventually I started watching for him.
He seemed to be getting skinnier despite the food I was giving him, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that wherever he had come from, nobody seemed to be taking care of him.
At some point, I decided that the next time the opportunity presented itself, he was coming inside.
Apparently Grimalkin independently reached the same conclusion.
Because then the dead birds started.
I would like to formally state for the record that DEAD BIRDS ARE NOT AN ACCEPTED FORM OF CURRENCY AT ECHOES OF ETERNITY 😆
This was problematic for several reasons.
First, I like birds.
Second, I don't particularly want cats murdering birds.
Third, and perhaps most urgently from a business-management perspective, I REALLY did not want some poor unsuspecting customer to walk up to Echoes for crystals and incense only to discover a tiny feathered homicide scene outside the front door 😬
Grimalkin, however, apparently believed we had entered into a business arrangement and would settle his account in bird corpses.
One day he left a dead bird sometime during the day.......then again that evening.
The next morning, another dead bird appeared.
Totaling three birds ☹️
I remember telling Dan that the cat would probably come back around dusk, and if I could just happen to be outside when he appeared, he'd come right up to me and I could bring him inside.
Again:
Grimalkin had his own plans.
Because sometime around dusk, I was working in the back when Dan called for me.
The cat was outside.
Waiting.
I walked toward the front door.
And there he was.
Sitting directly outside the door to Echoes.
Semi-patiently.
Like a tiny gentleman who had completed the necessary paperwork, paid his security deposit in avian currency, and was becoming increasingly concerned about the customer service at this establishment.
I have pictures.
Photographic evidence WILL accompany this story.
He was just sitting there looking through the door like: Hello, I believe my accommodations are ready.
So I opened the door and Grimalkin walked inside.
That was it.
No trap.
No chasing him through the parking lot.
No dramatic rescue operation.
I opened the door and this cat just WALKED INTO THE SHOP as though the entire matter had already been negotiated and I was simply the last person to receive the memo.
I picked him up, carried him into the workshop, and Grimalkin has lived back there with me ever since.
And then we discovered that our new tenant was...
a bit of a fixer-upper.
The ears alone were apparently a group project.
Ear mites and a yeast infection.
Treatment.
Retesting.
SURPRISE! Staph infection in his ears.
More treatment.
His eye had an injury and needed medication.
He had about every parasite possible.
He needed vaccines.
Testing.
Neutering.
Microchipping.
More vet appointments.
More medication.
More worrying.
And we learned that Grimalkin is FIV positive.
FIV sounds terrifying if you aren't familiar with it, but it does NOT mean Grimalkin is currently sick or that he can't have a long, happy life. It is primarily transmitted between cats through deep bite wounds.
That does mean we're being extremely cautious about Omen and Abyss.
For now, Grimalkin has his own kingdom in the workshop with me. Eventually, because all three cats are generally laid-back creatures, we may VERY slowly and carefully begin introductions. If everybody gets along peacefully and there is no fighting, they may eventually be able to safely share more space.
And if there is even the slightest question about it?
Nope.
Grimalkin stays in the workshop.
The end.
I'm not gambling with any of them.
Besides, I apparently require supervision.
Which brings us to Grimalkin's current occupation:
Workshop Supervisor.
He oversees much of what happens behind the scenes at Echoes.
By “oversees,” I mean he follows me around, gets in the way, demands attention, bellyflops dramatically, and presumably ensures compliance with various regulations that he has invented.
So don't necessarily expect to see him lounging around the front of the shop with Omen and Abyss.
You might occasionally meet him, but Grimalkin is usually with me in the back.
Supervising.
And the transformation of this cat has been ridiculous.
This is a substantial gentleman.
He's about fourteen pounds.
Not fat.
SUBSTANTIAL.
Although he has recently begun developing a suspicious little pot belly.
I have absolutely no idea how this happened.
There is certainly no evidence connecting this development to the quantity of treats he receives. 😆
This fourteen-pound former street criminal is now picked up and carried around like an actual infant.
And he LOVES IT.
Scarred street gangster who survived outside murdering wildlife?
Gone.
This is baby.
This is Grimothy.
This is Lord Bellyflop.
And apparently Grimothy also thinks it's perfectly normal to wear a tiny tactical vest.
We discovered this because Grimalkin does not particularly believe in cat carriers.
Grimalkin believes cat carriers are escape rooms and Grimalkin is apparently VERY GOOD AT ESCAPE ROOMS.
So his last trip to the veterinarian involved a harness and leash.
And because apparently I have completely lost control of my life, his harness looks like a tiny tactical vest. Yes, they make tactical vests for cats 🤣
He walked into the veterinarian wearing it like this was completely normal.
"Yes, I am fourteen pounds.
Yes, I have seen things.
Yes, this is my tactical equipment.
I am here for my appointment."
And after everything this cat has been through, he takes almost everything in stride.
Veterinary appointments, medication, people poking at his ears, tests, treatments.
All of it.
As long as I'm holding him, he's generally okay.
That one gets me a little because this enormous scarred tomcat who apparently survived outside for at least a month—probably longer—with parasites and infected ears and whatever else had happened to him...trusts me.
Completely.
Which brings me back to his name.
I've known the word Grimalkin for years.
It's an old word for a cat, and over the centuries it became tangled up with witches, folklore and familiars. There's even a Graymalkin among the witches' familiars in Macbeth.
I always loved it, but I never had a cat who felt like a Grimalkin.
Then this cat walked into my metaphysical shop after paying three dead birds for admission.
Dan initially wasn't entirely convinced about the name.
It's weird.
People aren't always sure how to pronounce it.
I didn't care.
I knew: this was Grimalkin.
There was never another option.
And here's the part of his story I didn't discover until recently.
Remember Oliver?
Remember how I said Grimalkin appeared about a month after I lost him?
One day I happened to look back at my old posts and I noticed the dates.
The first time Grimalkin appeared at Echoes was exactly one month to the day after Oliver crossed the veil.
Possibly to the minute.
I hadn't noticed it when it happened.
I discovered it months later.
Make of that what you will.
And maybe now you understand why I didnt want to share this cat with the world.
Our friends knew about him and some of our regulars met him.
I talked about him privately.
But, for months, I couldn't quite bring myself to share him with everybody.
He felt... mine.
Something precious that had appeared while there was still a very raw Oliver-shaped hole in my world. I got fiercely protective of him. I still am.
But I think I'm finally ready to share him because Grimalkin is part of Echoes now.
Not as a mascot or an attraction.
Just as one of the strange little souls who somehow found his way here.
And I joke constantly about the transformation from Grimalkin, scarred street gangster and freelance birdassassin, into Grimothy, fuzzy baby and Lord Bellyflop.
But underneath all of the jokes, there is something incredibly beautiful about watching an animal realize that he doesn't have to survive anymore.
He doesn't have to wonder where his next meal is coming from.
He doesn't have to hunt.
He doesn't have to live with infected ears.
He doesn't have to fight.
He doesn't have to be tough.
He gets to be ridiculous.
He gets to bellyflop.
He gets to develop an entirely unexplained pot belly.
He gets to wear his stupid little tactical vest to the veterinarian.
He gets to supervise me in the workshop.
He gets to be held like a baby.
He gets to be safe.
He just gets to live.
So.
Officially.
Meet Grimalkin!
Grimothy when he's being ridiculous.
Professional menace.
Survivor.
Former freelance bird assassin.
Payer of debts.
Lord Bellyflop.
Workshop supervisor.
And very, very loved.
One of the things I'm proudest of about Echoes has nothing to do with what we sell.
It's that when something small, strange, scared, or wounded crosses our path, we try very hard to leave it better than we found it.
Apparently, sometimes we also adopt it.
This post took me several days to write so if you made it all the way to the end I very much appreciate it! Thank you!
-Kalene
🖤 A torch in the dark
