Passing Thoughts
The more you love a pet, the deeper the pain will be when you lose them
When you have a pet, you know the day will come. The day you have to end their suffering and preserve their quality of life, by saying goodbye.
For me, that day came unexpectedly and from out of nowhere in early February, when I had to say goodbye to my 16-year-old cat, Dash. Six hundred fourteen days after I said goodbye to my firstborn and soulmate, Pixie, after 16 years together.
I am beyond heartbroken. I am not okay.
My animals are not simply pets. They are my family. No, I’m not saying that they are my children — I never wanted kids for a million valid reasons and would never consider my animals to be something that I never had any desire for. What they are is so much more than that.
They are my heart. They are my home.
Seventeen years is a long time, and reflecting on the things — the life — I went through with my cats is so humbling. They comforted me when my brother died by suicide, not leaving my side, even physically flattening their bodies on my chest to help calm me down when I was sprawled and weeping on the floor — something they had never done before, and never did again. They stayed with me through my separation and divorce (and you better believe I got the cats in the divorce). They accepted a new puppy and put that dog, Pippa, right in her place. They traveled with me by plane, by car, and by vibes as I moved from Northern Virginia to DC to Seattle to Austin to New York City to Maryland (by way of New Jersey) to Northern Virginia. Pixie didn’t make the final trip back to New York City, but Dash served as my strongest support system in my final relocation. And during COVID, when the world shut down and we were all isolated — me in a new city with no community to speak of — I was never alone, or lonely. I had a crazy crew keeping me laughing, on my toes, and serving as warm bodies to snuggle with whenever I needed a little love.
I had cats growing up, but went without as I ventured off to college and into my 20s. I think I knew I would have animals again someday, and that day came when I moved in with my future ex-husband, who had a cat. (a cat who sucked, but a cat nevertheless). That was 22 years ago, and my home has included a cat ever since then.
But now, it’s just Pippa and me. A girl and her dog. Of course, Pippa is well into her geriatric years, about to turn 14, is mostly deaf, and going blind. While she used to be cuddly and affectionate and wanted to stay close to me at all times, those days are long gone. She likes to be alone in her bed, rarely in the same room as me, sleeping and isolated. It’s hard, but I respect what she needs, even if it’s the furthest thing from what I need. I know the time will come sooner rather than later when I have to say goodbye to her, too.
So who am I now? Without my family, my sense of home, without the love, without the tiny beating hearts that kept me going. Being in a new city (again), where I don’t know anyone (again), is hard to manage without my sources of comfort and love.
I knew that when I had three animals all about the same age, I would likely have to say goodbye to them in close succession. And when Pixie’s time was coming to an end, I told myself not to rush and bring a new animal home, that I should be sure to take time to live animal-free and have the ability to do something I couldn’t do when I had animals, like move abroad or … well, whatever the hell I wanted.
But you know what? I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be in a home without cat hair and dog hair and toys and fluff and fuzz and destroyed blankets and the occasional random barf pile and chaos and cuddles and love and purrs and furry tussles.
I mean, I know those right-wing misogynist fuck boys are trying to scare women like me by saying that we’re doomed to be single cat and dog ladies who will die alone. Oh, no! Whatever will I do? Come on, incel boys, don’t threaten me with a good time. I can’t imagine anything greater than living out the rest of my days in a home filled with animals.
So, as I do everything that I can to make sure Pippa is comfortable, I have also realized that it is time to start thinking about adopting my next family member. Pixie and Dash will never be replaced, I will love them and mourn them and miss them every day for the rest of my life. But even with all the pain, all the sadness, and all the money (OMG, so much money), they are worth everything.
So soon, it will be time. I know a new kitten won’t heal my broken heart. But, I hope, one will make my heart whole again. And maybe Pippa’s too.
While Grammarly was used to improve the writing of this post, AI was not used for content creation.