After such a shock, I only took a day off work to recover, but then right after I had to go back to being my regular, “cheerful” self (people always says I smile all the time), since my work involves other people and few have reacted as if losing a pet represents a major event in one’s life. At the same time, in private, I’m also trying to express my grief in a healthy manner, not keeping it bottled up. For example, I made a video with pictures and some clips I made of her when she was well, so I would remember her as a healthy bundle of energy and joy, not the terrible shape I last saw her in. I also plan to put her ashes in a flower pot (I live in an apartment, so no backyard), so she will have a real resting place that will always be close to me.

However, I’ve also been struggling about the emptiness I feel around me without having my friend and I have been wondering if I’ll ever have a cat again. After reading your article, I do feel I’ll need to give myself some time to deal with the guilt and the pain of my loss, but your blog entry has helped me see that it’s healthy to let myself feel this way for now and that it’ll be ok to one day try to adopt again. So, thank you, for helping me make sense a lot of what I’ve been wondering about!

Evan was our little love bug. He loved snuggling, and giving kisses, and sleeping in our arms. I called him my teddy bear because he loved to sleep with us and would let me hug him since we brought him home when he was 8 weeks old. Evan was such a special little guy. He was an eternal kitten in a big boy’s body. He lived his life with such fervor and enjoyment of all things, especially eating and playing with Butler.

My husband and I have been crying since 4 o’clock yesterday morning when we realized he was gone. Butler didn’t sleep last night and just kept wandering around the house morosely, looking around and sniffing everything. I know this because I didn’t sleep either.

Today, we decided to go to the shelter even though it’s only been one day because we were afraid Butler would get more depressed. Our cats have chosen us when we’ve gone to the shelter. We weren’t going planning to come home with a new feline, but that’s what ended up happening. This little boy saw us and went crazy meowing at my husband just the way Evan always had all the time. We played with him awhile, and that was it. We knew he was the one. Oddly enough, it didn’t even occur to us until we were on the way home that the name the shelter had given him was ‘Longoria,’ as in EVAN Longoria, the baseball player.

We feel it was meant to be, but we are grieving so desperately for our little orange boy who left us so suddenly without warning. Our hearts are broken and we are hoping we didn’t make a mistake in rushing into adoption only a day after losing our baby.

I don’t know if we were right in giving Butler a new companion so soon, or if we should have waited until the pain wasn’t so severe. The new kitten is sweet, playful, loving, and this is his new forever home. I understand there aren’t rules on grieving, and our new kitten is not a replacement as no one could ever replace Evan. Just please tell me we aren’t crazy for not giving ourselves and Butler more time to mourn our loss.

Thank you all for sharing your stories. I feel for anyone who loses their beloved fur babies.

My first experience with losing a cat was with my 16 yr old Calico Muff, who became progressively thinner, pulling her fur out, etc. The vet hydrated her but a week later I knew it was time. This was in 1992 and I still get teary-eyed. About a month after losing her a coworker needed to rehome her big tuxedo cat. Caspar and I fell in love and he lived in Muff’s house, moved with me to Colorado and then to Ohio. He had always had a companion at his previous owner’s house, so I found a kitten who had been rescued from a gang of little boys – she evidently was shaken by them [eyes are always dilated] and Caspar raised her. One year after I adopted her, I felt a hard lump in Caspar’s neck. The vet didn’t think anything of it but in two weeks it was golfball size. He had cancer and also diabetes from a cortisone shot. He endured his daily insulin quite well and we would visit the vet on a regular basis. when the cancer was found. He stayed with me another five months or so and when he stopped eating I knew; he was put down in September 1998. He was 12.

A couple months later something pulled me to a pet food store where I had never been. I needed cat food so went in, found my brand, looked over my shoulder and there she was – a Calico kitten from the Humane Society who looked very much like Muff. She drilled me with her laser green eyes [I was not going to look but she pulled me in]. Then I went to her cage [I was not going to hold her but she reached out]. Well, I adopted her and she and Koala have been together ever since – enduring my fostering of cats and kittens and, horrors, adopting two male kittens.

So now it is time for Koala to go find Caspar amid much grief and tears. This blog, which I just found today, had been instrumental in helping me come to grips with the kindest thing I can do for Koala. It is not about me; it is about her quality of life, enjoyment and well-being. Muff and Caspar have left their paw prints all over my heart, and Koala will too. In an odd way, this line of cats has continued my link with Muff and also the cat I got as a wedding present. Tish lived with my in-laws while we were overseas and came to a sudden demise at our first house when she got out and was hit by a car. Later, we stayed with my in-laws again briefly, and I found Muff in the back yard – she was the size of a tribble. Several years later after my divorce, she and I were on our own. So all my cats are linked by the places I have lived, and as odd as that sounds, it is comforting. Thank you.

Shelby, my beautiful orange/white tabby was diagnosed with mammary gland cancer, which I opted to treat. Per the vet’s recommendation, she had her mammary chains removed and underwent four rounds of chemo. Throughout Shelby’s illness, there would be times that she would be sleepy or would stop eating for a period of time, but she always bounced back. Several times, I contacted the vet and was told she needed to work through it, which she did. I did not become alarmed after her last round of chemo when she seemed under the weather because she always bounced back. The night before Shelby’s one month check up after completing her chemo, she was sleeping alot and fell when she tried to stand. I rushed her to the emergency vet and to my horror was told that Shelby was in acute renal failure. They tried to treat her with fluids all night, but her condition did not improve and she actually was actually getting worse. The vet told me that we could continue to treat, but that she was not encouraged because Shelby had not been responsive to treatment. She also impressed upon me that Shelby was did not feel well. Shelby was very sick. I felt guilty because I wondered had I taked her to the vet when she did not feel well would it have been caught sooner thereby giving her a better chance. The vet assurred me that I did not miss anything and that Shelby probably hid how truly bad she felt until she could not anymore, which is when she ended up at the vet.

When I went to the hospital to see Shelby the next day after she had been admitted, she was not lucid and did not respond to me. When I saw her, I knew that I had to fight my urge to keep trying to “save her”, because what she needed was for me to help end her suffering. She was no longer urinating on her own, had a feeding tube, and was on fluids. It was the hardest decision I ever made, but I decided that I could not let her be like that. I had to end her suffering.

As far as the decision to be with her during the process, that was easy. My best human friend went with me to see Shelby at the vet when the decision was made to end her suffering. She asked me was I sure that I wanted to be present when Shelby’s life ended. She thought that maybe I should say goodbye to Shelby and leave her with the vet for the final moments. I told her that Shelby and I had been together for close to 14 years. Shelby earned having me there to hold her and comfort her during her last moments and that is what I did. My friend stayed too for both me and Shelby. The vet gave us time alone with Shelby and I held her and told her how much I loved her. How I knew that she tried to fight, but that she was ready to go now. The vet came in an explained the process to me and gave Shelby a couple of injections. Shelby died peacefully in my arms. I have not been able to stop crying since the night I took Shelby to the vet, though there is no doubt in my mind I made the right decision for her.

Prior to Shebly, I had another cat, Frankie, who died after falling from my apt. window. Frankie’s death was extremely painful for me and I was not sure whether I would be able to have another cat because I did not want the pain of losing another cat. Eventually, I was guided to Shelby, who I had alot of great years with. Shelby and I welcomed Chloe, a wonderful Calico into our club. I am sure that when the time is right, Chloe and I will welcome another furry purry into the fold.

My daughter got Ms. Tori when she was 8 years and was her playmate through elementary and high school. We kept her after our daughter finished college and moved away to start her own home. Ms. Tori was an old fashioned regal lady who never got excited and was comfortable just by being at your side, whether you were reading or enjoying a lazy afternoon in the backyard. Her favorite treat was a small table scrap of chicken. She only came to the table and meowed when we were having chicken.

She appeared to have experienced a stroke a few days ago and had difficulty walking with her back legs. We had a rare snowstorm here in S.C. and the veterinarian’s office was closed. Ms. Tori kept going to a dark closet which she had never done before and we took this a sign that she dying. My wife prepared her a bed in the closet and placed her food and water bowl close to her. She drank a lot of water and tried so hard to get to her litter box. It was heart wrenching to see her struggle to make it across the kitchen floor. We helped her into the litter box and she would cry out when it was time to go again.

My wife wrapped her in her favorite blanket and and she appeared to be content with being curled up in her bed next to another warm vent in the closet. My wife spent the entire day with her gently brushing her head and comforting her. We knew the end was near by the look in her eyes. The eyes of a cat are truly a window to her soul. She passed away so ever gently just as in the life she lived. Even on her death bed she was a beautiful little creature.

I buried Ms. Tori in her favorite bed and blanket beneath the snow this morning in our garden. When I depart this life I trust and hope that I will be caressed and given words of comfort by my loving wife just as she provided to our pet, Ms. Tori.