A Letter from Afar: When a Melbourne Family Met Sunshine
In Blackburn, near Melbourne, lives the Davis family. Mike, the father, drives trains; Sarah, the mother, teaches at a primary school; and their daughter, Amy, just turned ten.
The family had a fourteen-year-old tabby cat named Sunshine. He wasn’t just a pet but a living memory of their home. When Mike was unemployed, Sunshine kept him company every day. When Sarah lost her mother, Sunshine quietly comforted her. Amy’s first word was a mimicking “meow,” inspired by Sunshine.
But last winter, Sunshine passed away peacefully in his sleep.
The house suddenly grew quiet. Amy no longer bounced down the stairs. Sarah would instinctively set aside a small piece of fish while cooking. Mike felt like something was missing during his evening football matches. They tried adopting another cat, but it never felt right—not because the new cat wasn’t lovely, but because the idea of “replacement” felt wrong.
The change came on Amy’s birthday. Coming home from school, she found a special rug in front of the fireplace. On it, Sunshine lay in their most familiar pose, every detail vivid and lifelike.
“Grandma found a shop that specialises in custom pet portraits,” Sarah said softly. “They hand-painted it stroke by stroke from photos.”
Amy knelt beside the rug, her small hand gently brushing the image. Tears fell quietly. “He’s home,” she whispered.
The rug became a warm corner of the home. Mike liked sitting there with his coffee on weekends. Sarah would lie down there when tired. Amy loved doing her homework while lying on it.
Later, more items with Sunshine’s image appeared around the house: cushions on the sofa, Mike’s water bottle... The most special one was a luggage tag with Sunshine’s silhouette sitting by the door. Before every family trip, Mike would attach it to their suitcase. “Now Sunshine sees the world with us,” he’d say.
These items didn’t replace Sunshine, but they kept memories of him alive. Mike would point to the rug and share stories. Sarah would smile at the cushion. Amy would touch the water bottle and recall old times.
In that house in Blackburn, Sunshine lives on in another way. When the sunset filters through the windows, casting light on the rug, it’s as if an old cat is napping there, watching over the home he loved for fourteen years.
And the artist may never know that her portrait has allowed a love to continue growing, reaching across distances.