My Cat Just Died

I'm so sorry for your loss, but I'm glad you were there at the end. My deepest condolences.

 

My grandparents' dog died in the same way, bagelchick, so hold that close to your heart.

My grandmother said the dog, a very old and very nice cocker spaniel, had been feeling poorly all morning but waited around to greet my grandfather when he came home for lunch. Then she went out into the back yard, laid down in the sun and quietly died.

So I think sometimes they hang around to say goodbye if they can.

Sorry for your loss. Lotta good years, right?

 

Bagelchick, my condolences on your heartfelt loss.

It's amazing, however, how animals can sense these things. Like Dan Rydell, I'm betting your cat hung on until you got home, just to say goodbye with you there.

We had a trio of great, great cats. When the second one, Gretzky, died five years ago, the wife and kids were at her mom's and I was home cleaning the house. I knew he was sick with cancer and didn't have much time left. He went onto the landing of the stairs and peeped at me (his version of a meow). I caressed his orange, fuzzy body and told him I'd get him some water. He feebly peeped at me again.

When I came back, he was gone, thus tying a bow on the worst month of my life -- a month that featured my father having a stroke, me getting unjustly fired from my job and my favorite cat dying.

 

I don't think of pets as just animals because of all the stories I've heard of them waiting until their owners can see them to pass on. I think of them as members of the family, just like anyone else. They say most women who are sick, die just after a big day for them, like their birthday or a family holiday that is important. If you read the obits, you can see it's true.

bagelchick, my heart goes out to you.

 

my condolenses bagelchick... I'm glad you got to say goodbye and be with her when she died.

 

BC, I'm so sorry for your loss. Growing up on a farm, I know the pain of losing a pet all too well.

When one of my favorites died unexpectedly a few years ago my aunt gave me a pearl of wisdom I'll never forget.

She told me that god has to take our animals from us so children will have someone to play with in heaven. It stopped hurting a lot less after that.

 

Good Lord. I can't even imagine coming home to that, but at least you got to hold her at the end.

My condolences.

 

Bagel, you have my sympathies. I probably wouldn't have written that five years ago, but with a cat now that I adore, I understand.

 

BC, I'm very sorry for your loss today. I know I echo everyone's sentiments here when I say that if you ever need to vent or talk about her, any of us is a PM away. You're very lucky to have been able to spent over 18 years with her, and sounds like she thought she was pretty lucky, too.

May she rest in peace.

 

BC, my best wishes to you. Losing a pet is never easy.

 

20 years ago, my mother's cat had a litter. Mom decided to keep one of them. The mother cat passed away a year or so later, so it was just the kitten around the house. The cat took a liking to my dad, hopping in his lap whenever he was around, so after a while, "Slick" was as much my dad's cat as mom's.

Mom died in January, 1994, after a lengthy illness (requiring me to make a 180-mile round trip three times a week), and after taking a week off for the funeral, I returned to work. Two weeks later, Mr. Publisher fired me for "not concentrating on work."

I moved home with my dad in the old family home for a few months, time enough for both of us to get back on our feet. And Slick became my cat too. Came the fall, I scared up a new job and moved out, but every time I came back to visit, Slick would be purring at my feet.

January 2001. Dad's time now; he too went through a lengthy illness, once again I'm making a 150-mile trip a couple times a week, but soon enough, the end arrives.

Finally, we have to clean out the house completely -- 50 years of souvenirs of the lives of Mom and Dad. I, and all my other sibs are living in no-pet apartments, but my little brother -- Dad's Jr. -- has a house, and he can take her. My brother is a guy's guy, he drinks beer, chases chicks, goes to football games and Bruce Springsteen concerts, but he liked having little Slick around. And when I'd go over to visit, she'd nuzzle up against my leg again.

A couple of weeks ago, I get a phone call from my brother. Slick woke him up at 5 a.m., yowling in pain, and hacking on the floor. Hardly ever fussed a bit in 20 years. He rushed her over to the vet medicine clinic, and they said, "we'll see what we can do, but don't expect much." And there wasn't.

So long Slick, say hi to Mom and Dad. And don't try to eat out of Friendly's dish. (Friendly was my childhood dog, who died on the same day as Elvis in 1977).

 

Hang in there BC. Just remember to laugh at all the good times the two of you shared.