Crown Princess Laila of the Royal House of Kanaani Gives Birth to Three Kittens

Crown Princess Laila Yom Tov of the Royal House of Kanaani Gives Birth to Three Kittens

October 5, 2026 — Three new lives, a new generation, and the Crown of Compassion

On October 5, 2026, Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Laila Yom Tov of the Royal House of Kanaani, daughter of King Arbuz and Queen Haifa, gave birth to three kittens.

My beloved Laila became a mother.

For some, this may simply be the birth of three tiny kittens.

For me, it is something much greater: the continuation of life, a moment of profound gratitude to the Almighty, and the beginning of a new generation within one of the rarest cat breeds in the world.

And it came at a moment when another part of my life was changing as well.

Around the same time, I received a polite rejection from a literary agent for my children’s story, The Golden Cat of King Solomon.

I had once imagined that such a rejection might disappoint me deeply.

Instead, I found myself at peace.

Laila was safe.

She had become a mother.

Three tiny lives were beside her.

And I understood that perhaps the Almighty was not closing a door at all. Perhaps He was simply showing me another one.

Some doors close because our path continues elsewhere.

And some stories do not need permission to live.

Laila came to me from Israel in June 2025 through Liudmila Vlasova.

She was my first Kanaani.

That same month, I was completing my rabbinical studies at JSLI.

A new chapter of my life was beginning. Alongside rabbinical service came a small Israeli cat who would become part of my daily responsibility, my work, and my heart.

To me, she is the most beautiful cat in the world.

At a cat show in Finland, I once spoke with a French judge about the Kanaani breed. He showed me a photograph he had found online and told me that, in his view, the cat pictured there represented an exceptionally beautiful example of the breed standard.

I looked at his screen.

“That is my Laila,” I said. “Laila Yom Tov, daughter of Haifa.”

He smiled.

Among countless photographs on the internet, he had unknowingly found a photograph of the very cat whose custodian was standing before him.

I still remember that moment with pride and tenderness.

To the judge, she was an outstanding representative of the Kanaani breed.

To me, she was simply my Laila.

With the establishment of the Royal House of Kanaani, she received her dynastic title:

Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Laila Yom Tov.

But the title is not merely ornamental.

Every Crown within our House carries an obligation.

Her title is also my promise to her: to protect her, care for her, and do everything within my power to preserve the future of her extraordinarily rare breed.

Earlier this year, I was afraid that I might lose her.

Laila developed pyometra.

On February 22, at two o’clock in the morning, I left with her for Cornell University’s veterinary hospital in Ithaca.

The weather was difficult and the road was long.

When the veterinarian asked when I could arrive, I said nine in the morning.

We arrived at 8:15.

They were waiting for us.

I remember the care with which she was received, their interest in such a rare cat, and their willingness to help.

And I remember how difficult it was to leave her there.

When you love an animal, every instinct tells you to protect that animal yourself.

But sometimes love means entrusting someone you cherish to people who can do what you cannot.

The veterinarians at Cornell saved her.

I will always remember them as the people who met my fear with knowledge, compassion, and action.

I remain deeply grateful to the entire veterinary team that cared for Laila.

I am also grateful to Rabbi Zalman Liberov and Rabbi Nathan Arister for their blessings and support. In moments of fear, it matters enormously to have people willing to stand beside you in hope and prayer.

Laila came home.

Time passed.

And later, she became pregnant.

Then, on October 4, I noticed small traces of blood on the floor.

For a moment, all the old fear returned.

At the same time, I was waiting for an answer about The Golden Cat of King Solomon.

I had submitted the shorter version of the story, written specifically to be read aloud to young children.

A longer version also exists — with greater adventure, trials, dialogue, and the episode with the serpent — but I deliberately kept that version for another opportunity.

In the shorter story, I chose a gentler rhythm.

After many years of working with children, I have learned to treasure those quiet moments when an adult reads, a child listens, and something invisible but important passes between them.

Trust.

Wonder.

Memory.

In my story, a weary and hungry cat arrives at the gates of King Solomon’s palace.

Solomon notices his condition and orders that the little visitor first be given water and food.

I had long wondered how a king might have come to place a golden cat opposite a golden rooster upon his throne.

That ancient image became the doorway into my imagination.

And from that doorway came a conversation between King Solomon and a small cat.

The story meant a great deal to me.

Naturally, I once imagined it appearing through a major publisher in a beautifully illustrated edition, with parents reading it to their children.

But when I became frightened for Laila, those ambitions suddenly became very small.

My prayer became simple.

I was not asking for publishing success.

I was asking that Laila be safe.

And when the literary answer came, I received it peacefully.

The agent had wanted more action and greater plot development in the short version.

That was her professional judgment, and she was entitled to it.

I had chosen another way of telling the story.

And I remained free to continue my own path.

I am grateful that she read it.

There is no resentment in me.

Instead, I feel gratitude.

I believe the Almighty guides us in ways we do not always recognize immediately. Sometimes what appears to be a closed door is simply a turn in the road.

The longer version remains with me.

The shorter story, however, I have decided to give directly to readers.

On the morning of October 5, I took Laila to the veterinarian and showed the photographs of the blood I had found.

The veterinarian examined her and performed an ultrasound.

On the screen we saw two kittens with beating hearts.

At that moment, everything looked reassuring.

Laila received an antibiotic injection, and I brought her home.

Later, I returned briefly before leaving for synagogue.

That evening I was going to recite Kaddish for my father.

When I came home, Laila had already begun giving birth.

At first, I saw two kittens.

Then I discovered that there were three.

Three tiny lives beside my beloved cat.

I was preparing to speak words of remembrance for my father while, inside my own home, a new generation was beginning.

Grief remained with me.

But beside it came joy — quiet, immense, and fragile.

Life and memory stood beside one another.

Mazal tov, my beloved Laila.

Mazal tov, my Crown Princess.

You became a mother.

And the House continues.

I believe that Laila, her kittens, and the Royal House of Kanaani will leave their own mark on the preservation history of this rare Israeli breed.

The international show in Finland became one milestone in our journey.

Now another date has entered our history:

October 5, 2026.

The work of our House is rooted in Jewish tradition, connected to Jerusalem, and dedicated to preserving a living Israeli feline heritage.

I call the Kanaani:

Heirs to King Solomon’s Feline Throne.

I understand that inheritance through place, memory, tradition, and cultural continuity.

The golden cat remembered in the tradition of Solomon’s throne, the living cat in my story, and the Kanaani of today are connected within a narrative that I hope to pass to another generation.

My role is:

Royal Custodian of the Heirs to King Solomon’s Feline Throne.

And that title has very practical meaning.

Feed them.

Watch them.

Notice when something is wrong.

Call the veterinarian.

Drive through the night when necessary.

Protect them when they are vulnerable.

Continue caring when you are frightened, exhausted, or uncertain.

I believe that when we show kindness to the creatures of the Almighty, we honor their Creator.

The Crown I place upon these cats does not give me privilege.

It gives me responsibility.

That is why I call it:

The Crown of Compassion.

And so The Golden Cat of King Solomon will live.

I no longer believe that the life of this story depends upon the approval of a literary agent or a large publishing house.

Publishers and agents make decisions about the projects they choose to represent. That is their role.

But the story itself remains in my hands.

And perhaps that is exactly where the Almighty intended it to remain for now.

The Royal House of Kanaani will carry this story forward — first to the Jewish people, and then to every family that recognizes kindness, wisdom, compassion, and love for animals as values worth passing to children.

I hope Jewish mothers and fathers will read it aloud.

I hope grandparents will read it to grandchildren.

I hope it reaches homes in which children are being taught to notice the smallest living creature and understand that its life matters.

Read it.

Smile.

Read it again if your child asks.

And perhaps the little cat who once arrived at the gates of King Solomon will find a place in your own family’s memory.

From the Royal House of Kanaani to you and your children.

In honor of Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Laila Yom Tov and her three newborn kittens.

With love, gratitude, and prayer for the future.

Amen. And once again — Amen.

Rav Papa Kanaani
Rabbi & Animal Chaplain Mikhail Salita
Royal Custodian of the Heirs to King Solomon’s Feline Throne

THE GOLDEN CAT OF KING SOLOMON

At dawn, a cat appeared at the gates of King Solomon’s palace.

His coat was covered with the dust of the road.

His paws showed the marks of a long journey.

Yet he carried himself with such quiet dignity that he did not seem like a stray who had wandered there by accident.

The guards looked at him.

The cat looked back.

And then he sat down.

He waited.

Word eventually reached King Solomon that an unusual little visitor had come to the palace gates.

“Bring him to me,” said the King.

When the cat entered the royal hall, Solomon looked at him carefully.

Before asking where he had come from or why he was there, the King noticed something more important.

The cat was tired.

And hungry.

“First,” Solomon said, “give our guest water and food.”

A servant brought a bowl of fresh water and something to eat.

The cat drank.

Then he ate.

Only when he had finished did Solomon speak again.

“Now,” said the King gently, “tell me why you have come.”

The cat looked up at him.

“I have travelled far because I wanted to see whether the stories about you were true.”

Solomon smiled.

“And what stories are those?”

“That you are the wisest king in the world.”

The people in the hall expected Solomon to be pleased.

Instead, the King leaned forward.

“And what have you discovered?”

The cat thought for a moment.

“I discovered that you gave me water before asking my name.”

Solomon became very quiet.

The cat continued.

“A king may know many things. But if he does not notice that a small creature is thirsty, what good is all his wisdom?”

No one in the hall spoke.

Then Solomon smiled.

“You have travelled a long way to teach a king a short lesson.”

The cat lowered his head.

“I only said what I saw.”

Near the throne stood a golden rooster.

Solomon looked at the rooster and then at the little cat.

The rooster stood proudly, as though announcing himself to the entire world.

The cat simply sat in silence.

Solomon understood.

There are creatures whose strength announces itself loudly.

And there are creatures whose strength lives quietly beside us.

So the King ordered that a golden cat be placed upon his throne opposite the golden rooster.

And from that day forward, whenever Solomon looked upon them, he remembered:

Wisdom is not only knowing how to rule a kingdom.

Wisdom is noticing who is hungry.

Who is thirsty.

Who is frightened.

And who has come quietly to your gate.

The little cat remained at the palace for some time.

But one morning he disappeared as quietly as he had arrived.

Solomon’s servants searched for him.

The King did not.

He simply looked toward the golden cat upon his throne and smiled.

Some teachers arrive without announcing themselves.

Some stay only long enough to leave us wiser.

And sometimes the smallest visitor brings a lesson worthy of a king.

The End.