The Tomato Thief

Stella has always been a joyful little force of nature—equal parts curiosity, mischief, and charm. One of her earliest holiday traditions involved quietly “redecorating” the Christmas tree by removing ornaments from the lower branches and tucking them under the couch pillows, as if building her own secret stash of festive treasures. That playful sparkle has been there from day one.

Her creativity wasn’t limited to the holidays. In the summer, she developed a very particular hobby: harvesting my father’s tomatoes right off the vine —but only at peak ripeness—and eating them directly in front of him. Now, no one touched my father’s tomatoes... except Stella. And somehow, instead of outrage, she was met with laughter. To this day, I have no idea how she managed to charm her way out of that one—repeatedly.

While my father lived with me before his passing in 2015, Stella became his constant companion. She was rarely far from his side during the day, and every evening she could be found curled up beside him in his La-Z-Boy, her head gently resting on his lap. She gave him comfort, companionship, and—especially during tomato season—a steady supply of entertainment.