Losing A Beloved Pet – A Devastating Experience

I cannot believe I’m writing this article. Why do we have to lose those whom we love? The death I experienced recently was not a human death, but rather an animal death. The feelings I’m experiencing are too much for me to handle. It feels like I lost my best friend; like I lost someone who loved me unconditionally; who was there for me regardless of the time or day; who had the ability to smell my sadness from rooms away and come next to me to make me feel a tad better. Feels like I lost someone who was there for me for 18 ½ years. Why did this need to happen?

The morning of the 27^th October was nothing special. I had no lectures scheduled, so I was at home with my mum. But at around 10am, mum mentioned that our cat Fluffy seemed to be experiencing some pain. We had witnessed this before (she has always been quite resilient), and yet after sleeping for a while, she would turn out to be fine. But this time she was not. For the first time it felt like I was actually going to lose her, despite all the times the vets told us that she would die in a few months. I cried while hugging her. It felt like the end was near. After a few minutes, I caught mum next to her, and when I saw her lying next to Fluffy, something told me that I should let her say her goodbyes. It’s like my gut knew.

I spent all day thinking about what she might be experiencing, fearing that the unthinkable would happen when I am not there. The night came, and we were discussing about taking her to the vet, but the thought of her not coming back was too much. One of my sisters was extremely upset, the other was crying as well. I tried to stay composed for their sake, but this horrible feeling lingered on. Our parents left to the vet with Fluffy while we stayed home.

The vet performed some blood tests so that we would be sure about what was really going on with her internally. While testing was being done, we video-called our parents so that we could see her for the last time. We hoped that they would be told that she would be fine – maybe her reactions were slow because she’s quite old. Maybe the pain was related to constipation…

It was not constipation.

At around 8.15pm, a dreadful notification came up – mum sent me a message. “it’s done”. I couldn’t speak. I fell onto my sister crying, trying to say that ‘it’s done’. I called my youngest sister to tell her that Fluffy had passed away. We just fell onto each other, trying to breathe. I hoped that it was a mistake – that the injection was not needed. That it did not work. That she had gotten back up and started walking normally. But instead we got to know that her blood had been very low, her heart was malfunctioning, her kidneys were barely working and she had well advanced pancreatic cancer.

I sent a voice message to my best friend, telling her what had happened. Obviously she could not understand me due to my sobbing. I had waited until it happened to do so, as I honestly had believed, or wanted, a different ending.

Seeing my parents walk up the stairs with an empty cage, not hearing her meows, was devastating.

All of us hugged for what seemed like eternity, all broken hearted.

It was a never-ending night.

I threw up. I could not move – my legs were not working. I could not talk – my facial muscles felt sore.

My youngest sister slept with my parents. I slept with my other sister. We could not bear to stay alone. Honestly, no one actually slept that night – at least for the most part of it. I kept hoping that she would come cheer me up like she used to do whenever I was upset. I kept imagining her messing with the robot cleaner.

A day passed. I kept waiting for her to come greet me with her meows as I was getting out of bed. I was waiting for her to come greet me. But there was no one there. Doing the dishes felt dreadful – I washed her food bowl, knowing that she wouldn’t be eating from it ever again. Hugging our other little recently adopted fur babies was hard as well.

I asked mum whether it was a nightmare, hoping she’d say yes. Complete denial.

We had lost her forever.

She was a very quiet cat, yet it’s quieter without her. My heart keeps feeling weird and I have no motivation to get out of bed, chat with my friends, and even shower.

I took her bowl, filled it with lavender and put an artificial lotus flower on top of it, symbolising that from the sadness, something beautiful can still come out…somehow. She taught me how to love. She taught me how to care. She taught me about unconditional love.

I get occasional guilt-led thoughts telling me that I should have been closer to her. I should have taken more care of her. The guilt is killing me. I’m angry, sad, disappointed. But I know that this is part of the bereavement process.

I am writing this not to make myself feel better, because I know that healing from this trauma needs time. But I feel that sharing my raw emotions can help others understand that such feelings are okay to experience in such situations. If you have fur babies, hold on to them. Hug them, kiss them, be there for them, because when the time comes, nothing is going to hold them back from crossing over the rainbow bridge. They are not here to stay forever – Spiritually yes, physically no.

If you are or have experienced this, I am really sorry for your loss. Now I know from experience how hard it is to lose a fur baby. Just hold on to the thought that they could be somewhere out there, in the spirit world, watching over you while playing with their favourite toy <3

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