Amélie entered our lives quietly, on a rainy Paris evening, when the city felt especially slow. She was small, gray, and serious, as if she carried old wisdom even as a kitten. From the very beginning, she chose windows over toys and silence over noise.

She loved mornings most. While the city woke up below, Amélie sat beside us, watching pigeons and rooftops, blinking slowly as if counting memories. She followed us from room to room, never demanding attention, but always present.

In difficult moments, she rested her head against our hands, grounding us. When she went to rest, Paris felt different — softer, quieter.
Her love still lives in every sunrise.