The Almost Home Project

09/06/2024

07/13/2024

Patricia Ann (Dimmitt) Kaija, passed away from breast cancer Saturday, June 29, at her home in Chehalis, Washington. She leaves behind her family – husband, Matt; her father, Fred Dimmitt; sister, Carolyn Currie; brother-in-law, Stuart; nieces, Megan and Emily, father-in-law, Jerry; sister-in-law, Marlo, and nephew, Samson. She was preceded in death by her mother, Judy.
In addition, she leaves behind multiple half-finished cross-stitches, a half-read rom-com, a laundry basket with hundreds of unmatched socks, and a cup of coffee from March (year undetermined) in her “Grumpy” mug. There’s also a self-composed memorial notice on a device to which she left no one the password, so we’re doing our best in her honor.
Patty was born January 9, 1965, to Fred and Judy Dimmitt. She grew up in Orting, with a stay-at-home mom, a dad working down the street, and extended family mere blocks away. Her independence asserted itself at once. “Do it myself” was a phrase she started with and continued throughout her life. She grew up rough and tumble in the country, surrounded by grandparents and cousins, spending the days at the creek swimming or hunting for frogs, biking or roller skating at breakneck speed on the concrete without a helmet, and playing with the cats, cows, or horses.
In school, she was a member of the Orting Class of 1982. She played volleyball, sang in the choir, joined Future Farmers of America, excelled in language arts classes, and was on the yearbook committee. She received a degree in communications and public relations at Washington State University, where she became a staunch defender of the Cougs, with only a smallish transgression in the 1990s when she met a Husky in a bar. Sounds like a great punchline.
In 1995, she moved to Chehalis to live with a friend and kept running into a “local” boy in the bar. Feigning ignorance in all things “outdoors,” she invited him over for advice on landscaping, and while no plants were sown, her future was. Matt and Patty were married on September 25, 1999 (not the password, by the way).
She ran away from small towns, hating everyone “all up in her business,” yet ended up firmly planted owning a family business in a small town, loving knowing everyone that walked through the door of Kaija’s Garden and Pets. She treasured becoming a person they could come to for plants, books, coffee, cats, and pretty much anything else she set her mind to be an expert on that day.
She never had human children, so her nieces, Megan and Emily, were the recipients of laser focused spoiling and devotion. She loved buying them outfits that matched from pigtails to toes. She cared for them weekly, instilling her love of animals into them like an imprint and her skill with sarcasm as a second language to learn. She taught them to cross stitch, embroider, and risk one’s life and limbs to rescue animals. Their birthdays? Still not the passcode.
She leaves behind so many friends and acquaintances. She ended her days with visits (real and virtual) from her bestie, Lisha, who is still salty about their deposit on an all-inclusive nursing home with turbo scooters, along with her preschool girlfriends, friends from college, work, and the community; she would meet friends wherever she went.
She also leaves some enemies. But they deserved it—they were bad to animals. Trust us.
And that leaves us with the animals. She told a reporter in 2005 that she was sick of hearing about kittens being put to sleep and decided to do something about it. Her “do it myself” came out and she started a rescue foundation, the Almost Home Coalition; devoted a corner of the store to kitten adoptions, and became “that cat lady”, although she would truly help any other animal that came her way. Come to the memorial and we’ll tell you the one about the mountain beaver in the closet. The frog in the underwear. The kittens in the bra. And we probably only know a fraction of those stories.
Patty had plans, both large and mundane. Traveling. Expanding her non-profit into a spay and neuter clinic and a cat cafe. Organizing her socks. Being with family and friends for years to come. Finishing the book by her favorite author. A well-deserved retirement with Matt surrounded by her pets. Her plans were cut short after ten years of breast cancer.
While Patty didn’t want a funeral, she requested a celebration where people could share photos and reminisce, give her a toast or two, hug loved ones, and carry on in her memory. We are working out the details (as well as the passwords) and will post here as dates are worked out.
So, in true Patty fashion, we will celebrate her the way she lived—full of laughter, love, and a touch of chaos. Bring your best stories, your funniest memories, and let’s make it a party she’d be proud of. After all, she’s probably up there, surrounded by cats and laughing about that darn password.
Please, no flowers or donations at this time. With her extended illness, details are being worked out for Almost Home.