Kai would have been thirteen today.

Thirteen. A proper grown-up sort of number, that. Not a sprightly pup, not quite ancient and grey — although let’s face it, Kai always did look a bit distinguished, even in his younger years. That was his vibe. Dignified chaos. A whirlwind in a waistcoat.

I suppose I thought we’d have made it to this birthday together. There’d have been a ridiculous hat. Something home-baked that claimed to be dog-friendly but suspiciously looked like a meatloaf. The others would have mugged him for it, obviously. Riot pretending to be too cool, Penny pretending to be polite. Nala knocking it over with her bum in the chaos. Louis probably composing an interpretive dance about cake. And Kai, calmly letting the storm happen around him like some zen old wizard in a fur coat.

But he’s not here. And today is quieter than it should be.

I lit a candle. I took the dogs out. I told the sky about him, just in case the clouds had forgotten.
He loved the wind. He loved a muddy path.
He loved me. I still find that remarkable.

Thirteen today. And even though he’s not under my feet or nicking the comfiest bed or casting that side-eye when someone’s being daft, he’s still everywhere. In the way I speak to the others. In the rhythm of our days. In the bit of me that finally, properly understands loyalty.

So today’s for you, Kai. No party hats, no silly voices, no fanfare. Just love. Quiet, stubborn, ridiculous love. And the hope that somewhere, somehow, you’re still leading the way.

And I miss him. I miss him in the small moments, the glance over my shoulder where he used to be. I miss the weight of him beside me, the certainty of him. I miss the way the others followed his lead without ever quite admitting they did. I miss the way he held the chaos together just by existing in the middle of it.
It aches. Quietly. Constantly.