A Life Well-Lived, a Cat Well-Loved

I think most animal lovers will agree that one of the hardest things they will ever face is having to say goodbye to a beloved pet. I also think most would agree that no matter how deep the pain and grief of loss, they are deeply grateful for the time they got to share their pets’ lives. Over the years when I would hear or read about someone’s experience with this kind of loss, my stomach would tighten, I could feel a lump form in my throat, and even tears coming to my eyes remembering the times I had been in that position and wondering when I would be in it again. 

Well, it did happen to my husband and me about a month ago when we lost our sweet tabby, Buddy, to cancer. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. Buddy was only 11. Our super-senior Siamese—ornery and arthritic—is still going strong. We were sure he’d be the first to go. Buddy was a young senior, still spry and playful. When he started to lose interest in his food, we thought he was just being finicky. When he stopped zipping around the house, we figured he was slowing down because he was getting older. We wanted to believe that, but after a while it was impossible to ignore that something was wrong. 

Thus began six heartbreaking weeks of vet visits, tests, diagnoses, and treatment options. By the time we learned Buddy had a chemotherapy-resistant, aggressive cancer, palliative measures were our only option. Those helped, but only for a while. We steadily exhausted our options until we were left with only one. 

It was tempting to try to delay the inevitable, but we knew in our hearts it was time to let Buddy go. He passed away peacefully, resting on my lap.  

Grief and Gratitude

As we struggled to accept that Buddy’s remaining time with us would be short, and especially as we felt our time with him running out, a thick fog of grief descended over us. I discovered the only thing that could cut through it—even for a few minutes at a time—was gratitude.  

And there was so much to be grateful for. Ten years of affection and silly antics. Ten years of loyal companionship. Ten years of mostly robust health and easy care. And 10 years of daily doses of the sweetest, sunniest disposition I could have ever hoped to know. 

I had spent Buddy’s last days desperately trying to impress everything about him into my memory—the softness of his fur and the thickness of his coat, his quirky facial expressions, the weight of him in my arms, even his stinky cat-food breath. The idea those tactile sensations would eventually fade from my memory broke my heart. But they did something else—they called me into the present and helped me remain alert in his presence, grateful for his every remaining moment, his every chirp and trill, and his soft, rumbling purr. 

I even felt gratitude as we knew Buddy was dying. We were grateful for the professional care, compassion, and the guidance that helped us make our decisions about Buddy’s end-of-life treatment. Even as I felt anguish knowing we were out of therapeutic options, I was grateful for palliative care that gave us a few more good weeks with him. I will always be grateful for the kindness and compassion of the veterinarian who performed the euthanasia in our home. She was every bit as gentle with us as she was with Buddy. 

Even so, the minutes, hours, and days that followed Buddy’s passing felt unreal. Gratitude was the only thing that gave us a reprieve, however temporary, from our unrelenting sadness. 

Buddy’s life was too short, but his legacy is long. He left so many gifts, as I suppose all companion animals do for the folks who love them. Buddy left us to live his example, to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, to live in the moment, to play and not be afraid of looking goofy doing it, and to love generously and unconditionally. 

Buddy’s memory is a blessing. He will live in our hearts forever. 

This was a Daily Word editor’s letter. To subscribe to Daily Word, please visit https://shop.unityonline.org/subscribe.