Messy Bernhardt

Messy — lovingly known as Mess-Butt, Moose Goose, and Mooska — crossed the Rainbow Bridge on December 27, 2025, leaving behind a home forever quieter without her purrs, headbutts, and constant companionship.

Messy found her way into our lives on May 30, 2017, already about five years old, after wandering through the woods of Brookings, Oregon until she discovered her way to my family’s home. Scruffy, fluffy, and irresistibly sweet, she was named by my little sisters for her wild appearance — a name she grew into with pride and personality.

She was my very first pet who was truly mine. I was only sixteen when I adopted her, and I remember the overwhelming joy of taking her to the vet myself, paying with money from my first job, making her officially part of the family. From that moment on, it was always Messy and me.

Messy lived a full life filled with adventure, moving with me from Brookings, Oregon, to Long Beach, California, and later to Columbia, South Carolina. She was an excellent road-trip companion — so calm and trusting that she didn’t even need her crate closed during a 16-hour drive, content to sit in my lap and watch the world pass by through the window.

Throughout the years, Messy had several furry roommates — Feco, Elanor, and Bodhi — whom she tolerated more than loved. She also shared time with dog siblings Ninja and Koda, eventually growing fond of Koda during holiday trips back to Oregon. In her final year, she gained two siblings of her own: Samurai, a black lab, and Sprite, a playful kitten who surprised everyone by earning Messy’s affection. Sprite learned quickly to be gentle with her, helping groom her when she struggled and patiently letting her eat first — something Messy never allowed another cat before.

Messy was affection in cat form. She was a devoted shadow, happiest whenever she was near her humans. Bedtime was sacred — every night she was ready to make biscuits for a solid half hour before burrowing under the covers until we fell asleep. She adored kisses, often headbutting faces repeatedly until she received proper smooches, purring all the while. Before she lost her hearing, she would purr especially loudly when her nicknames were sung to her — singing always made her happiest.

Her favorite toys were kicker toys and laser pointers — dozens of them over the years. Sometimes she’d gently “attack” an arm like a kicker toy, but always with soft nibbles, fake kicks, and kisses. That was just her nature — endlessly sweet. She loved sunbathing in windows, curling up in laps, or sleeping on her mini cat tree beside the bed, always close.

Messy had a taste for what could only be described as “cat McDonald’s” — gravy-covered pâté, Temptations, soft-center Greenies, and the occasional spoiled indulgence of sour cream, cheese, or stolen tortilla chip licks from the kitchen.

When she passed, memories came flooding back — her chasing laser dots in my childhood bedroom, watching goldfish and frogs by the pond, rolling in sun catchers on the carpet of my first apartment while I told her how beautiful she was. Everyone who ever met Messy was instantly charmed by her gentle soul and endless love. She made countless small moments brighter simply by being there.

Messy helped me through the hardest parts of my life and celebrated every major milestone right beside me. She was my comfort, my constant, my light. There was never a time she wasn’t there — until now.

Left to cherish her memory is her parents, Zoe Bernhardt and Thomas Farley.

She is so deeply missed and forever loved.