Photobook preview
Laila 2011 — 2024
A Memory Space · A cat
Laila
2011 — 2024
Kept by Ellen
Laila, in the window seat.
The armchair, hers
The armchair in the corner was Laila's from the day she arrived. She did not ask. She simply installed herself, the way a cat installs herself, without fanfare and without apology. Guests who sat there were tolerated. Briefly.
The four o'clock chorus
At four o'clock, every day, she sang. It was not miaowing exactly. It was a small announcement, delivered from the top of the stairs. We never learned what it meant. We answered anyway.
“Laila was, for thirteen years, the second opinion in every room. She had views on visitors, on the vacuum, on whether the door should be open or closed, or both, in sequence, at intervals.”
— Ellen
The last summer
The last summer
In her last summer, she chose the sunny patch by the door and stayed. She still had opinions. She still had the armchair. We still answered the four o'clock chorus, and she sang it, quieter now, but she sang it.
A Memory Space
Laila
2011 — 2024
Kept by Ellen
memoryspace.life
This is a preview. The printed hardcover will use archival paper and cloth binding, fulfilled through our print partner. Available soon.