Pet Bereavement: The Traumatic Loss of my Family Cat
- mje679
- Feb 25
- 5 min read
Pet Bereavement: The Traumatic Loss of My Family Cat
For an animal lover like me, losing a family pet feels like losing a family member. As soon as they are gone, emptiness fills the room that was once occupied by their vibrant personality. If you’re lucky, you’ll see your pet live a long, happy, and healthy life in the comfort of your home. When their time comes, you know that despite the loss, you’re grateful for all the good times you’ve had with them.
Losing a pet unexpectedly is a bit different, however. You’re not prepared by the signs of graying fur or the increasing slowness of their movements. You thought they’d have more time to live and be happy, innocent, family members. You also never expected them to go perhaps so violently or traumatically, and you wonder what you could’ve done better to ensure they would’ve led the life you wanted for them.
My family lost our cat, Annie, last month, quite unexpectedly and horrifically. While I wasn’t physically home to deal with the aftermath of the situation, I could feel the weight of the loss through my phone screen. My sisters were sobbing, weighing all the different scenarios of how we could’ve done better to ensure her death never happened. My mother stood there stoically, firm, and comforting while undoubtedly crumbling on the inside. Annie was my mother’s best friend.
Remembering Annie
My family adopted Annie in 2014 when she was at least 2 years old. My sisters were hell-bent on getting a kitten, but my mother thought it better to adopt a cat in need of a home. We found Annie on a trip to Petco and immediately took her home. Her big green eyes, cowering in the cage, melted my mom's heart.
I was lukewarm about adopting Annie. I was never much of a cat person and found myself afraid of their temperaments, or so I thought. I was naive and uneducated about cats. My fear came from a few experiences with feisty felines.
I didn’t pay Annie much attention for the first year of owning her. She was a pretty shy kitty who liked to keep to herself and play outside. She didn’t really like toys and hated to be picked up. She’d let you pet her, but only on her terms.
So, I adopted the “I don’t care” attitude with Annie. My mom thinks I pretended not to care about her just to make my twin sister mad. Either way, I did my best to avoid Annie– and she knew it too. They say cats are attracted to non-cat people, perhaps finding our aloofness more comforting than someone who is excited to pet them. Annie loved me extra hard, trying to show me as much as she could, leaping onto my lap and brushing me with her tail every time she got the chance.
It didn’t take long for my rough exterior to break down, and Annie and I became fast friends. Although I moved away to another city and saw her less, I took comfort in knowing that my mother and Annie were two peas in a pod.
When reflecting on Annie, my mother first recalls her very stinky breath. But on a more serious note, she misses how Annie became a part of her routine. “She would sit right there on my keyboard, always trying to get my attention. Everyone at work got to know her; she would regularly attend work meetings,” my mom said.
“She was so tiny, only 6 pounds. And yet, she was quite the vocal kitty. She always had to let you know she was there.”
Despite the traumatic scenario in which we lost her, my family is working to move past it. Instead, we are choosing to remember the good times we had with her. Overall, she had a good life, and we’ll choose to remember her happiness – when she was bathing in the sun, hunting bugs outside, and most importantly, laying in her cat tree where she could be close to my mom.
Pet Bereavement: A Serious Loss
After learning of the passing of my cat, my mother and twin had to take the next day off of work. I chose to go to class, knowing that distraction would be my best recourse. It was also partially because I felt silly explaining to my professors that I couldn’t attend class because I was grieving my pet. I shouldn’t have had to feel foolish, but sometimes, pet loss is not seen as a valid form of grieving or something that should be taken so seriously.
Pet loss can be an immense, overwhelming feeling of grief and depression, especially when they go so horrifically. My mother and sister are still recovering from witnessing it – I am, too, just from imagining it.
My family is not alone. Millions of pets die each year—some from old age and some from unfortunate incidents. It’s important to remember that we need to provide support for all types of loss, as pets can greatly impact our lives. It’s not silly to grieve the loss of a family member, whether they’re human or not. This is why many shelters offer bereavement services as a chance for people to grapple with the emotional turmoil of pet grief.
The Animal Welfare Association offers pet bereavement services, including a Pet Loss Support Group and hosting Luminaries for Lost Loves. On Rainbow Bridge Remembrance Day, an annual event dedicated to pets who have passed away, the AWA lights lanterns for visitors.
The grief and depression that comes from the loss of a pet are very real, but there are many ways to work through it. Finding the support of those around you, including different bereavement services, helps you to remember to honor the life your pet lived.
One method that personally helped me was writing a letter to Annie and burning it. I wrote everything I needed to say to her, making sure she knew how much I loved her and missed her. I burned it, hoping the smoke would get the message to her while letting go of any guilt or regrets I may have had. She was a brilliant, enigmatic cat who had lived a good 13 years. While she left us unexpectedly, she’ll never leave our hearts, and we’ll forever feel her presence in our home.
Annie lying in my mom’s shirt drawer; Annie perched on our neighbor’s fence. Photos by Betsy Emerson.
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