Sea otters hold hands while they sleep.
This is so they don’t drift apart in the night.
Otto and his best friend Miri had held hands every single night since they were tiny pups.
They knew each other’s favourite kelp patches.
Their best floating spots.
The exact sound of each other’s bark.
Then one winter, Miri didn’t come back.
Otto waited.
He floated in her favourite spot and held his own paw instead. 🦦
🌊 The Empty Paw
Days went past.
Weeks went past.
The other otters tried to come close, but Otto shook his head.
“That space is Miri’s space,” he said.
He drifted further from the group.
His paw stayed clenched.
Holding something that wasn’t there.
But it didn’t feel empty. It felt full of missing her.
And Otto held on.
🌿 The Silver Otter
One morning Otto drifted so far that he bumped into Gran.
Gran was the oldest otter anyone had ever seen. Her fur had gone completely silver. She had held more paws than she could count.
“You’re holding something,” Gran said, looking at his clenched paw.
“I’m holding Miri,” said Otto.
“If I open my paw, she’ll drift away.”
Gran was quiet for a long time.
Then she put one silver paw on Otto’s chest. Right above his heartbeat.
“She won’t drift from here,” Gran said softly. “She can’t. She lives there now.”
💙 Layla Understands
Layla had lost something once too.
Not the same as Otto. But something.
And Layla knew that feeling — the clenching, the holding, the not wanting to let go.
Layla read about otters that night and learned that when an otter loses a friend, they sometimes float alone for a while.
But they always — always — let someone hold their paw again.
Not because they forget.
But because they remember so well that there is room for both.
That night, Otto unclenched his paw.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done.
But Miri didn’t drift away.
She stayed — right where Gran had pointed — warm and still and perfectly there.
A young pup nudged shyly against his side.
Otto looked at his open paw.
And slowly, gently, let the pup take it. 🦦