When they landed at Berlin Tegel, what surprised Irmak most was this: the documents she had so carefully prepared weren't checked by a single officer. Ginger walked through passport control without a care in the world.

The Berlin years were the peak of Ginger's social life. They lived in shared apartments. Finding a place to live with a pet is never easy, but Ginger won over every single one of Irmak's housemates, and it never became a problem. Before appointments at the foreigners' office, Irmak would joke, "If my visa doesn't get renewed, I know Ginger's place in this country is far more secure than mine." She wasn't entirely wrong.

Ginger spent thirteen years making friends from every corner of the world. She lived those thirteen years to the fullest, with mischief, with stubbornness, with flair. One of her kidneys had never developed properly, but she never let it show.

When the time to say goodbye came, everyone whose life she had touched wanted to see her one last time before parting. It was as if Ginger had known this moment was coming and had quietly prepared herself, and everyone around her, for it.

That crowded farewell showed Irmak something she already knew but had never been able to put into words: the bond formed with your animal, and the grief carried after they are gone, is something deeply worth honoring.

Ginger showed Irmak what perhaps the healthiest relationship in the world looks like. She taught her how to set boundaries, and that protecting those boundaries is your own responsibility, not the other person's. Thank you, Ginger, for touching their lives and for allowing them to be a part of your life experience.