Pet eulogies for cats and doggies...with the occasional hamster as well
Your own furry, scaly or
feathery pet(s)' tributes are welcome!
Click here to get to the form below.
More eulogies ... posted in 2012
a pet is one of the hardest trials facing those of us who love them.
It helps to recognize that we all leave the planet at some point, and that
the process is natural. But at the time, it hurts. Enormously.
And often, it hurts for a long time. A friend recently said to me,
"I can't believe I still miss our little dog Peter. He died four
years ago, and I still think of him often, and miss him very much."
We all still
pine for the furry friends we've lost over the years. But it really
does help to write about them. And paying as much attention as possible to new fuzzy faces who've come into
our homes is a joyful way to bring comfort and laughter back into our
Adopting a new cat or dog (or bird, turtle or
snake) really helps fill the awful void. Knowing we can help an orphan
who oftentimes has been abandoned or mistreated by humans is another thing that
helps recover from the loss of a pet.
Below you'll find the beginning of
tributes to pets I personally have known and loved. You'll be finding more as I
can get the stories up in this space. You'll also find some links
below to stories young and senior participants in "Pawprints"
classes and writing clubs have written. And stories and photos sent in by
visitors to our site.
I hope you find some comfort here, if
you have lost a pet. And, please, if you have a story you'd like to
share, scroll down to the box at the bottom of this page and send it in.
We're posting visitor stories and photos and would be pleased to add
Rapscallion P. Cat, a.k.a., Rapper
I lost him many years back. For a
long time, he appeared to me in dreams, and I was always so glad to see
him. We lived together from the time he was six months old until he
died at 21.
Rapper was an amazing cat. Extremely
smart, very funny. When we lived in New Orleans, and he was just a
kid, he used to make sure he had my attention, keep a watch on me while he
approached one of the plants I tended in the apartment, jump into the pot,
turning to watching for my inevitable approach, and dart off at the very
last minute, just when I was about to grab him.
He was clearly playing, and I could never really get mad at him,
a fact of which he was well aware, of
I am writing this to send a salute to the guy, one of the best pussycats
It saddens me greatly to announce that
dear Sascha Cat died in February of this year. She was a light and
protectress, a devil in a cat suit, loveable and gorgeous. She was
too young to go.
"Little" Sasch (she actually weighed 14
pounds) was the daughter of Silverberry, a fantastic, huge Prussian blue
long hair, about whom I will also be writing, and Tamba Cat, all featured
characters in "Pawprints." Sasch
was one of six kids. You can see a picture of Tamba with Sasch and
her siblings by clicking
Sasch was a Maine Coon, one of the most
appealing of all cat breeds. Her personality, luxurious fur and
markings were equally outstanding.
When Sascha was born, we lived in
Carmel-by-the-Sea. She was the imp who always knew when I was going
off on a business trip, and when I wanted to take her somewhere, both
occasions for an abrupt disappearing act.
Once I was moving for a few months to New
York City. Our Carmel house, which would remain home base, had a
beautiful view of a valley, and lots of fun grounds for cat romping. Sasch, to get out of my reach, loved to zoom out to the edge of a steep
cliff in the back, slip under the fence, and laugh at me. That's exactly
where she went the morning I was trying to catch that NY plane. In
tears, I went to the airport without her finally, with the promise that
her caretaker would send her to me as soon as she could round Sasch up.
Fast forward some years to Brentwood, and
the arrival of Pixelle, "She who Would Torment." Tamba wasn't having
any whenever Pix tried to play, so she took to stalking Sasch, who was far
more tolerant for some reason. However, come bedtime, Sasch would
jump on top of me, and when Pix came to bug me in the middle of the night,
Sasch would bat her off.
One awful day, not long after Pix came
into our lives, Sasch began showing signs of trouble. She started not
wanting to eat, which was not at all like her. I noticed she wasn't using
the litter box much either. She began to need me to protect her from
Pix, as she didn't seem to have the oomph to fight off Pix's persistent
advances. After two days of this, I became worried and brought her
to see Dr. Baum. He suspected there might be a growth in her
abdomen, took an x-ray, and sure enough, there was a very large mass.
A few days later, after further testing, I brought Sasch in for
exploratory surgery. Again I was thrilled that Dr. Baum permits
people to go back and visit with their companions when they are in the
hospital. Sasch purred for the whole hour I stayed with her, and
rubbed against my hand constantly. Within a short time after the
doctors took Sasch into the operating room, I got the call from Dr. Baum
telling me they'd found the growth. It was a tumor, and the way it
was entwined with other organs nearby made it inoperable. They'd
taken a biopsy and as soon as it came back, we would discuss treatment
possibilities. But we never got the chance. Poor Saschie suffered
what we think was a stroke, and never woke up from the anesthesia.
I take some comfort in knowing she didn't
have to go through what could have been a very difficult treatment
regimen. Tamba and I miss her terribly, but at least we have that
thought to bring us some relief.
Pix? She's the new devil in a cat suit.
COMING: Stories of more wonderful cats and dogs with whom we've been
privileged to live, from Ina and from kids and other grownups.
Boon Companion of Ina
Tamba came to visit me in a dream last Tuesday. She was not at her
best, with fur a bit unkempt, and still thin as she had been the day
before, when Dr. Baum and I agreed it would be best to put her to sleep.
But in the dream she once again had the energy to come to me, and it was
a real up to see the little girl. I had been a complete mess, the only
thing sustaining me the comfort in knowing that what Tamba had was
cancer. Treatment, which was not very likely to really help, would have
been very hard on her.
Tamba and I had been boon companions for 16 of her 17 years, from the
time she and her brother/husband Silverberry entered my life. Having
just put down Cindy, the third and last of a previous group of wonderful
pussycats, after his awful bout with cancer, I just couldn’t bear the
idea of taking in another pet. You know you’re going to lose them, and
who can stand it? However, when I brought Cindy in to the vet that last
time, there was a little kitten up for adoption. I took one look, said
no way to myself. But the little face haunted me. Next day I called the
vet’s office, only to be told that the kitten had been adopted.
Later that day I was talking to my friend Elaine, otherwise known as
Elaine Babes, and she did an “Aha!” Turns out she was feeding two cats
for a friend. His tenants had left, abandoning their cats. In this
world, it’s usually the animals whose side I’m on, and this is the type
of behavior behind that feeling. I can’t understand how anyone could
abandon a pet. And of course compared to the much more awful things
people do, mere abandonment is mild. Anyway, Helcio, the fellow in my
life at the time, and I went over to meet the pussycats, and fell in
love of course. They seemed happy to meet us, and so we brought them
home. In preparation, I’d set up the litter box, water and food, and
took the cats over to see all as soon as we got into the house, so they
would know they were home.
These are the pussycats who became Tamba and Silverberry. Tamba soon
went into heat, and she and Silverberry went at it under the bed for
three nights. Tamba then disappeared for three days, returning a dragged
out but contented female, the little hussy. In due time there were six
kittens, and in fact two fathers. Three of the kitties were Manx, and
black and white, and the others were like Sasch, coming from Prussian
Blue Silverberry’s Maine Coone streak. Gorgeous. Tamba didn’t have one
who looked like her – a beautiful pastel calico.
Though a wonderful mother -- she almost never left the little ones --
Tamba handled the disappearance of kitten by kitten well as we found
homes for the brood. But we decided to keep Saschie, much to our delight
for her twelve years.
And then there were all the moves, which revealed Tamba in her glory as
Chief Explorer of the Pussycat Clan. When we moved to the first new
digs, I couldn’t find Silverberry or Sasch for a while. They had holed
up in a sink, comforted, I thought at the time, by the fact that it
surrounded their bodies, giving them a bit of security. Tamba? She was
marching around everywhere -- and it was a big house -- sniffing
everything she saw and having a high old time.
As I wrote above, when I about to become bi-coastal, and was headed to
the new apartment in New York, Sasch had zoomed out of
reach, so that I could not get her to the airport. Miserable, I packed up Silverberry and Tamba, but at
the airport, it turned out I could not bring them both – it was 16
degrees in New York and unless they were in the cabin -- and you could
only take one pet -- the cat riding below would not survive the trip.
Horrible to find out, they did not heat the hold. So, there I was, faced
with a tough choice. Figuring Tamba would do better on this jaunt to a
new world as the solo cat, I sent Silverberry back to the house. The
plan was of course to have him fly east with Sasch as soon as it was
And so it was that Tamba the Brave and I flew across the States. Once
aloft, I took her out of the carrier at my feet, and put her next to me
on my seat, under the blanket to keep her whereabouts secret. She stayed
quietly. It was only when finally I had to get to the restroom that, as
I feared, she wanted to get up, too. So I asked my seat mate to hold her
down with a hand. Luckily, that worked.
When we got to the apartment, in a wonderful old landmark midtown
building on the west side, with a huge courtyard, “Big enough for
giraffes,” as the doorman put it, Tamba and I settled in. I took her
into the courtyard. It was her first excursion on a leash, and much to my
surprise, she was nervous. I think it was all the street noises that
scared her. She did love to run around the halls of that building, but really never did
take to going outside, though she had relished being outdoors in Carmel.
Our stay in New York did not last long, as California projects soon
called me back to the Left Coast. I gave up the Manhattan abode. Sasch
and Silverberry never had to make the trip, and Tamba and I returned
with her riding seat patrol again. Ultimately we all wound up in the
Brentwood apartment where I now live with Pixelle. Tamba and I lost both
Silverberry and Sasch way before their time, and were very sad at their
passing. But we soldiered on, Pix’s antics a big help to our morale.
In the intervening years, Tamba continued to be the brave cat, the one
to greet newcomers, the one to show young Pix the ropes about things
like outdoor litter boxes: you pee in one place, poop in another. Almost
daily until Tamba became unable to keep food down, I would see her
zooming in from the deck, Pix dashing in behind her. Or, I’d see Tamba
out on her own, leaping suddenly on a leaf. Her youth and vigor never
ceased to amaze, and amuse me. These are the pictures I will up when I
get sad. These, and the millions of cuddles, purring and messages we
sent each other over time.
Farewell, Tamba. Have a wonderful, zesty time where you are. I will see
you whenever you visit, and join you and all our other furry buddies in
Beloved Friend of Elaine Giampietro
My beloved Yoda crossed the Rainbow
Bridge on Sept. 16th. We had a magical morning where he left the foot of
my bed (his "spot" for 5 days) and laid down on my chest - heart to
heart. We had an amazing "be with." I thanked him for bringing such fun
to my life and recalled many of our adventures in many states. I assured
him that Nana (my mom) would be giving him "many kitty lovings and
He left my chest and snuggled into my neck, his breathing labored. I
told him he didn't have to wait for Dr. Bruce to come and he could go at
any time. We stayed like that for another 30 minutes and then he
stretched and went back to the foot of my bed.
Dr. Bruce Passamani, the vet, called at 8:00 and said he'd be over
between 11:30 and 12:00. I decided to leave the bed and shower, etc.
Shirley Warner arrived with white roses and a fabulous "kitty card." She
gave Yoda many hugs. My physician's assistant friend, Sigrid, arrived
and spent time with both us. Ammi arrived with a fantastic framed photo
of me and Yoda. My neighbor Anita, her daughter Chloe and their dog
Rowdy all dropped by to hang out.
By now, Yoda was feeling social and leaped off the bed and went outside
to sit in his chair! We followed suit and sat around the picnic table
recalling Yoda stories. "Remember the time Yoda....." He got many hugs
and scratches from "the Aunties"; he loved being the center of
Dr. Bruce arrived at 12:15 and we needed to bring Yoda into the house so
he could shave a bit of his leg for the injection. Sigrid took Yoda in
her arms and carried him inside to the kitchen. She gave him to me and I
held him as he got his shot.
I continued to hold him for about 40 minutes as we sobbed. Sigrid went
outside and dug his resting place. I brought Yoda to my bed where I had
some alone time. I cut the pant leg of an old pair of warm-up pants and
surrounded Yoda with them. "The Aunties" each spent time with him before
we carried him outside. We laid him on a bed of sunflowers and said some
prayers. We covered him and then planted a hydrangea plant on the top.
The Aunties remained with me as other friends came by all afternoon.
Ammi sent out for California Pizza and stayed with me until late in the
The next morning my friends Jack & Susan came over with a darling Terra
Cotta-colored granite statue of a sly kitty lounging on a stack of
books! Jack placed it close to Yoda and said some lovely Buddha prayers.
They told me that the Buddhists pray for 44 days and do "merits" for the
departed's soul (similar to random acts of kindness).
Friends, it's been magical. I saw Yoda run across the room a few days
ago and that night I dreamed a small black kitty with a little white
spot under his neck ran down a long hall and jumped onto my lap!
I'm off to the Cape in 10 days to attend my 10th high school reunion (gawd,
how time flies). When I return, my new kitty will be waiting for our
As I read this, I hope it isn't TMI (Too Much Info).....I do tend to wax
Love to you,
“Friendship doubles our joy and divides our grief."
NOTE FROM INA:
This story touches my heart, as Yoda was dear to me personally as well,
and I feel so keenly for his human, my good friend. I would like to say
to anyone out there reading this that I believe Elaine couldn't have
come up with a better way to say good-bye to a loved one. As hard as it
is when one of our furry friends is so close to the end, perhaps her
example could serve us to help usher our own dear friends into the next
stage of being.
Early this morning, Friday, 3/10/2006, Casey passed onto a
better life. I can see her running, barking, playing, and eating to her
delight in doggie heaven. I am thankful that she is in a better place and
now has her physical capabilities back.
Stephanie, Joey and I will really miss her. She has been with us for 12
years, so just like a member of our family. Joey was 7 and Stephanie was
12 when she joined our family on Easter. I will miss my walking buddy in
the morning - she so loved those walks, and she certainly got me engaged
and committed to this as an exercise. She was such a sweet, caring, and
fun-loving dog. It's pretty funny to see a 12 year-old dog chasing her
Joe came home from school last night, so all three of us could be with
her. And Tom was here and provided such great support for all of us. Early
this morning I prayed for her to find peace, and now she is there. We feel
very blessed to have shared these 12 years with Casey.
Attached are a few favorite pictures of our wonderful, crazy Casey. We
love her and will keep her memories in our hearts.
Laura, Stephanie and Joey
1983 (approx.) - April, 2006
My brother’s cat died early this morning. It was about 20 years ago that
Hunter appeared on Dave’s doorstep, a stray black cat who proudly
announced he had chosen my brother’s for his adopted family. Hunter was
named for a hockey player who fought all the time and he lived up to his
new name. As anyone who’s had a cat or dog or pet has experienced, Hunter
increasingly became a vibrant part of the family. He lived in three
different houses with them, was around for the birth of my niece and
waited for Dave every night as he came home from the newspaper, often past
midnight. They would sit together, watching TV, eating. Hunter had
opinions on everything; he seemed to have an inner sense of taste and
common sense. Once, when Paris Hilton was on TV, he turned to Dave with a
look that suggested “what the heck is she supposed to be.”
Hunter had the usual habits. He got a piece of fish every Friday, and
would mooch off any visitors that came by, but yet he was his own cat. I
always likened him to Steve McQueen, the essence of cool, maybe with a
little bit of Bogart’s cynicism. My niece would scoop him up in her tiny
arms, barely able to hold him and he didn’t struggle. Although his look
suggested he’d rather be somewhere else, his patience wouldn’t give out.
Except one time, when he’d had enough of her hugging, he swung and hit her
on the jaw with a solid right paw that had been declawed years before.
Rica let him go, turned in shock and said, “Hunter punched me.” There was
even a little red mark for a few moments.
Hunter also had his favorites when it came to music and movies. Of course
he liked Cat Stevens, but he was drawn to country singer Kasey Chambers
lately and Texas songbird Patty Griffin. Movies were his love, the usual
ones, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” “Cat People” (the original not the remake),
“The Aristocats,” “Harry and Tonto,” “That Darn Cat.”
Hunter went through many illnesses and used his nine lives as well as one
could hope for. He had leukemia and Dave and I managed to find the money
for his special treatment. Dave used to take him to Dr. Barabbas, a human
doctor who moonlighted as a veterinarian. I always said it was better to
have a human doctor treating animals than the other way around.
Hunter loved the cold, crisp winter air of Calgary, and he would go out to
patrol the yard and check on things. He never really wandered anywhere
else. He got along well with the other cat in the house, Duchess, a white
and black cat, much younger, less world-weary, but he understood that and
gave her space. While Duchess stalked birds, Hunter sat back with a look
that suggested he’d long outgrown that kind of thing and grown into a more
philosophical view on life.
As I get older, any death seems to affect me more strongly, most likely a
reaction to the mortality that I and my generation face now that we are
running towards our 60’s. As Hunter aged, he had many of the same problems
as old people do. Dave called once to say Hunter had done a hat trick, 3
“goals”: he threw up, urinated and pooped all in the same place. Recently
he had been to the vet’s and refused to let them take tests, and even at
his age, fought them until they finally gave up. Hunter himself was not
one to give up.
Last night Dave and I talked for a long time, realizing that the time was
near. Hunter was finally succumbing to his age. Experts say cats don’t
usually die peacefully for some reason, their deaths are often violent and
frightening to humans and they mostly die alone when not put to sleep. But
this time, Hunter went peacefully, a testament to his life-long character,
the essence of cool. Steve would have approved.
Last year I lost a dear friend, Morrie, who was 93 years old. Like Hunter,
he was a tough guy, street smart and on top of his game. Both he and
Hunter gave me a great sense of life and persistence and I miss them both.
Doctors estimated Hunter at around 23 years old, in human years around
Nova Echo Gomis - Steele
January 8th, 1993 - August 19th 2004
We miss her!
Love, Your Family XXXOOO
Fergus: January 1998-July 2006
In Loving Memory
RJ & Sue Hanson
Our beloved cat, Earl Grey, passed away November 26,2007, at home
peacefully due to kidney failure. He was almost 20 years old.
We were very lucky that he adopted us many years ago and he was a
delight, friendly to all, and will be greatly missed.
Dr. Baum and the staff at the hospital have always been so supportive
and could not have been more caring and helpful in Earl Grey's last
I have been witness to so many miracles from Dr. Baum with a few of my
cats over the years (approximately 27 years), and am always amazed at
his positive attitude and compassion, not only the animals but also with
the pet owners.
Endless thanks to Dr. Baum and staff.
Margaret Cox & Al Schepps
IN LOVING MEMORY Daisy
Died August 11, 2008
Our Daisy.....Always such a good girl! Not a mean
bone in her body unless it was to protect her family. Now you are with
your brother Winston and I'm sure you're having a good ole time
together. We miss you already. You will always be remembered and always
loved our sweet Daisy. Until we meet again....
From Deanna B
FREDDIE, BELOVED CAT OF FLO SELFMAN
A Story of Devotion, to Freddie and to Science
Somewhere in kitty heaven, my Freddie is purring
(and I am tearing up). After Freddie died, a friend in Ohio
wrote me that they come back at night and sit on the foot of your
bed. I've always liked
the thought. Flo Selfman
* * *
What you will read below is excerpted from an article written by Pam
Vetter, a journalist who also works with families of celebrities and the
rest of us folk to conduct one of a kind final services.
The gist of the story here is that Flo decided to
donate Freddie's body to science to help further cancer research, and
Vetter quotes veterinarians on issues potential donors might want to
weigh in considering this option. Scroll down to the end of this piece for a link to the entire
* * *
Pet owner Flo Selfman, Public Relations Consultant in
Los Angeles, remembers the path that led her to make the decision of
donating her cat's body to veterinary science.
"I adopted Freddie from Pet Pride shelter in West Los Angeles. He was
about two years old. He was a perfect, wonderful cat, one of those 'soul
mate' animals. He was a short-haired tabby with tiger markings on his
face and four white paws on long legs," Selfman said. "One Saturday in
July 1997, I had been out all day. When I returned about 4:30, I heard
an ungodly moaning from my bedroom closet. It was Freddie, and I had no
idea what was wrong with him. I rushed him to the emergency vet. They
kept him overnight, rehydrated him, x-rayed him, and recommended that I
An ultrasound revealed diffused liver cancer and Selfman faced choices.
"I took him to a cancer specialist -- a wonderful woman named Dr. Sue
Downing, now at ACC & IM in Culver City. She did not recommend
chemotherapy (which I could not have afforded), so I took Freddie to a
holistic vet, Dr. Marc Bittan, in West Los Angeles. He recommended
various things, including milk thistle, which Freddie could not keep
down so I couldn't give it to him; shark cartilage, which I could not
afford; and some other stuff including Pepcid. Yes, 'people' Pepcid, ¼
tablet. Thus began a year and a half nightmare. Some doctors suggested I
put Freddie down, but I didn't think it was time, as I know he still had
some quality of life. When he couldn't climb over the step to the
litter, I rigged up a litter pan on the bathroom floor by putting litter
in a jellyroll pan. I kept a dish of water near my bed so he wouldn't
have to go all the way to the kitchen for water. I gave him baby food
with a dab of liquid cat vitamins. And so it went. I did have to have
him rehydrated a couple of times, and learned to do it myself. After
about a year of this, I thought, 'This has to mean something.' After
all, he had a particular kind of cancer, being treated a certain way,
with the holistic vet." Selfman remembered, "Then I thought about my
parents, who had willed their bodies to USC Medical School."
Selfman thought maybe she could do the same thing with Freddie's body
and began to research the option.
"Eventually I was led to UC Davis. I knew they had a fine vet school,
and discovered that they had a Memorial Donation Program, plus various
other services for people losing their pets, including classes and
workshops, grief recovery, etc. I was assigned a third-year vet student,
Pam Wittenberg from the Student Animal Welfare Committee, and we talked
about what I wanted. I didn't want to just donate his body for cutting
practice. Because he had a specific medical condition, and was treated a
specific way, I thought they could learn something special from that.
Freddie's liver/tumor grew throughout this time; I used to call it his
'grapefruit.' Breaks my heart to think about it. Maybe I should have put
him down, but I just couldn't," Selfman explained. "I made arrangements
with two different vets: my regular vet in West Los Angeles, if Freddie
died during their regular hours; and their Los Angeles branch, if he
died over the weekend. The deal was, I would bring the body in and they
would keep it on ice until the vet students from UC Davis would actually
drive down and pick it up."
At the age of 13, Freddie died on February 6, 1999.
"At the end of the school term, I and other donors received a form
letter from UC Davis expressing appreciation for the donation. The
letter also said that, if I wanted to know specifically how my animal's
body was utilized, to let them know. I did want to know, and I received
a second letter explaining it. Freddie's care cost me several thousand
dollars over the year and a half. I have a receipt labeled 'care of
deceased' from the regular vet for $20.00, so that's what they charged
me to keep the remains until UC Davis picked it up." Selfman added, "I
sent notes and calls to all my 'cat' friends. What I found absolutely
amazing was the number of cards and calls of condolence. While I loved
them, I can say that I didn't receive a fraction of these expressions
when either of my parents died! I guess people find it easier to express
deep emotion over an animal than over a human."
Reprinted with permission from Pam Vetter and Flo Selfman.
Kyle, my first German shepherd, died peacefully on
the 20th of January, 2009. He was born on the 23rd of December, 2000, a
true Christmas present. He was taken too early from us, only eight years
old. On the 16th of December, 2008, he was rushed to the vet’s with
bloat which turned out to be a ruptured spleen that had a 4cm tumor on
it. It was removed and all seemed fine, but little over a month later he
collapsed whilst out for a walk. I knew instantly something was wrong.
We took Kyle to the vet’s and they said it was his liver. The cancer had
spread to it and it ruptured. Nothing could have been done to save his
life so he was peacefully put to sleep. The hardest part is knowing that
this is what killed my last German shepherd, Roscoe, who was only 9
years old. Both are running free in heaven along with Monty and Rebel.
R.I.P All of you run free, my angels.
Amy Butterfield, UK
October 1994-January 2009
Taz was a great dog! Always happy to see you, wagging
his tail, and wearing a smile. His fathers, Aaron Parre and Brandon
Meyer, raised him well.
Taz spent many weekends with Grandpa Mike helping do yard work and of
course creating some along the way. He loved chasing water from the
garden hose nozzle and running the fence to let skaters on the sidewalk
know this was HIS yard!
As a good guard dog, Taz walked many miles with Grandma Becky, enjoying
the pit stop at the grassy hill to roll down and scratch his back.
He enjoyed chewing his bone whiled relaxing on the office floor,
watching Grandma Becky read e-mails and books. And never missed meal
Taz is in heaven, and his Great Grandpa Rex is taking care of him now.
Stay out of trouble, you two!
From Michael & Rebecca Parre, Roseville, CA
IN LOVING MEMORY
September 1988 - April 3, 2009
My Stewart. I never wanted a cat,
didn't understand them, and was solidly a "dog person" when I started
working at the humane society six and one-half years ago. I was showing
a client through the "stray cat ward," after 6 months of working there,
and spotted this little 3 week old orphaned kitten huddled face-first in
the corner of his stainless steel cage. I had not been "drawn" to any of
the other cats or kittens until this time. After I had finished walking
the client through, looking for his lost cat, I went back to see this
little bean that had called out to me. He pleaded with me, with his
eyes, to help him. I immediately went to the foster care coordinator to
tell him that I had to "foster" this particular cat. Little did I know,
he was scheduled to be euthanized the next day, as nobody had claimed
him and he was ill with an upper respiratory infection. Well, to make
this long story short, he came home with me the next day, and never
left. He has shown me how these wonderfully magnetic, mysterious,
intelligent creatures called cats have worked their way into so many
people's hearts, over so many years. I love him with all my heart, and
he will forever be my little Bean Man!
Submitted by Stacy, Milwaukee, WI
Died April 5, 2009
I would just like to say
goodbye to my cat Lucy. She passed away today, and she was a wonderful
friend. I just wanted to say a few words about her life. She made all
her friends happy to know her. What a beautiful cat she was.
Submitted by Mara, Victoria, BC
In Loving Memory of KING
Died in March, 2010
Eulogy For King
We remember our trip one gray wet rainy day
to a farmhouse out past Lamar so far away.
We expected a pom baby, all fluffy and small
and instead greeted Fat Boy. He just laughed at us all.
It was love at first sight. Our hearts he just won.
And he joined our lives as Miki's sweet son.
His beautiful white coat and those gorgeous brown eyes,
that big old wet tongue and his loud snoring sighs.
He was such a
big cuddler and he filled us with joy.
He was Miki's sweet doggie, her happy Fat Boy.
He started each day barking and jumping with glee
either chasing the cats or begging out to go pee.
Well. that part
was a lie. He pottied wherever he wished.
We were always mopping puddles and scooping up icks...
but he just kept smiling and wagging that tail.
Potty training for Fat Boy was to no avail.
Yes, he was a
slow learner but he really tried hard
and finally was able to be alone in the yards.
He never quite grasped the whole doggie door thing.
It was never an "out" thing. It was just to come IN.
and he worked as the sentinel to guard house and yards.
He loved all of his family, treasured all big and small
and he challenged all strangers with his big angry calls....
melted to smiles and to jumping with glee.
He was more a big lover that a fighter, you see.
As a brother to Foxy he exceeded the mark
as he teased and enticed her to play with his barks.
He stole all her toys and the battles were bold....
and he let her win always because play was his goal.
the cats and kept Grammy awake
and they barked at all movements just for barks' sake...
And when Grammy had taken all Grammy could take
and yelled, "You guys be quiet, I'm sleeping for God's sake!
They just ignored
all the calls and jumped in the middle of mad Grammy
with kisses for all.
At the end of
the day when his Mom went to bed
He looked forward to "here, Fat Boy!" It just went to his head.
He jumped into bed amid "box of rocks" and "junk in the trunk"
and he knew he was loved and returned it in kind....
cuddling up to his mommy, her loving to find.
We all loved our
dear King, our big Box of Rocks,
Our bubbly big Fat Boy and his Junk in the Trunk.
Did he bound up to Heaven? Of this there is not doubt...
because DOG is GOD backwards, named with love by our Lord
and at the gates into Heaven, there's a gold doggie door
and when it was time for King's eternity to begin...
God opened his great arms and welcomed King IN.
Sent to us by
King's loving family: Miki, Roberta, Mandi, Weldon, David, and Miranda
Katmandu: The End of the Journey: November 2010.
November 3, 2010
To all my friends and family:
Today I honor Katmandu, who has gone to kitty
heaven where all the good cats go. There have been many goodbyes in
my life. They don't get any easier. But what does improve is my
understanding of death and the need to let go and not prolong life
when there is no chance of recovery. Humans have trouble letting go.
Animals are here to teach us how to do it. If we listen to what they
need, and don't get caught up in what we need, they will tell us
what we need to know. And they will tell us what they need and
deserve from us.
I am sharing this to avoid the stress of repeated explanations and
for those who would like to know why I had to say goodbye to my
beloved boy so suddenly today.
I was in Las Vegas for three days this week to see friends. If you know
me, you know I don't particularly care for Vegas. But I do value my
friends. When I returned, Mandu was agitated, ravenous for water (out
of the sink) had ulcerated bleeding gums, and bad breath. He had
lost weight (now 6 pounds, down from 8). This was a dramatic change from
the cat I left last week who was fine (I thought). Animals do miss
us. They do stress when we're gone. I don't doubt he was ill, but
the stress may have pushed the envelope.
In May, he was diagnosed with slightly elevated kidney function and
the low protein diet we gave him seemed to improve things. He ate,
was loving, communicative, looked great and was not ill. I fully
expected this ten year old rescue who has been with me for five devoted
years to be around another 5 or 6 years.
Life is full of surprises.
Now his kidneys were failing. Yesterday under great duress he
visited my caring vet Dr. Schwartz for blood work up. It looked
quite serious. Today I got the report and set the events in motion.
The rule is: we do not allow suffering. He was stressed. His numbers
were way over the top. There is no recovery.
At 5 AM after thinking all night, I made the decision that there
would be no heroics or prolonged and futile struggle. I know how to
let go. I know how to say goodbye with gratitude and love. Our
animals deserve to be released before they lose their dignity. I
would not stress him by forcing him into the carrier and to the
clinic again. My vet referred me to a wonderful, sensitive and calm
vet who came to the house to help release my boy from his
discomfort. Lupus, an auto-immune disorder was suggested as a
possible underlying cause. It was a very smooth and gentle
transition. The vet said, "We should all be so lucky." I agree.
He is at peace.
Now let me tell you about the gifts he brought to me.
I wrote the letter below to the rescue person who saved a feral cat and
housed him for the first five years of his life. It was my thank you to
her. And now it turns out to be my final gratitude to the Kat-Man.
KATMANDU IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE
Dear Auntie Suzanne:
I talk incessantly about my love affair with Mandu, and how much you
loved him to give him to me, and how you cried to have to part with
him, and my daughter said I should write and tell you this.
He was the surprise of my life.
Katmandu is in love with me, totally devoted. No one ever loved me
like he does. He meets me at front door and follows me around 'till
bedtime, then sleeps (on me) all night giving me kisses and drooling
with passion. I realized that he was a cat I never would have
chosen. I have liked the full coated tabbies, never the tuxedo cats.
I would have missed him. The girl kitties are two in April, with the beautiful
tabby look that I love, but are monsters, play all night, destroy
the house. (I do love them, don't get me wrong.) They are locked out
of my bedroom, and he and I like lovers stay there while they
scratch and cry pathetically at the door. I get up and chase them,
and two minutes later they're back. Even Mandu chased them out, and
came back to bed. If I let them in, they will not sleep, they will
play all night, and chase each other. My sleep is too erratic to
cope with them in the bedroom. So they are banned. But he is not. He
meows at me to tell me to hurry up and get to bed when I'm up too
late. He sleeps attached to my body, and talks to me, and kisses me
incessantly. Sometimes I have to tell him, "Go to sleep, it's too
much already." And he listens to me. He is polite, clean, discreet,
intelligent, and best of all he is nuts about me. It is not about
food. He is at the front door before my key goes into the lock. He
hears me leave my car and races down to meet me. He now lets me pick
him up and kiss him anytime I want to, doesn't run away like he did
at the beginning. He even has come to say hello to a few friends,
but not too close, just hello. I think he is gorgeous. And the best
cat I ever had. And I love him because I never had such devotion
from any man, woman or child in my life.
So thank you beyond gratitude for this gift to the world. He has a microchip, and no shots, is healthy and happy.
So now you know. Oh, and my daughter wanted you to know he has
helped me through illness I have struggled with, always there for
I think with Holly (golden retriever), I was in love with her, she
was never in love with me. I was a good playmate, and means to an
end, but I went to her for affection, not the other way around. Mandu is in love with me, comes to me for affection, I don't go to
him. Big lesson here. And I love him because he loves me so much. I
give him top cat status here. He'll be eight in spring.
Anything he wants....Anything.
Thank you for this gift.
AND THANK YOU MANDU. As Auntie Karen said, "He was there at the
Maybe there is an order in the universe, and not just chaos, or
random happenings. Maybe Mandu completed his mission in short order,
took care of me when I needed it, and his spirit has moved on to
help others in need.
We have only the time we have to do what we need to do here. He
certainly fulfilled his promise.
We should all be so lucky.
Marian Silverman, M.S.,MFT,LEP
Marian offers pet loss grief counseling services;
private or workshops available.
You can reach her by e-mail at the address
following. Please remove spaces and substitute @ for "at" and .
for "dot." Hollyni at sbcglobal dot net
Marcus the Carcus
To Our beloved Bernese Mountain Dog,
given name "On Your Marc,"
affectionately known as "Markie,"
or Markie Barkie.
Markie weighed in at 150-155 lbs, every ounce of him
designed to give love and be loved by all whose life his
short life of 5 1/2 years touched.
Marc succumbed to cancer on January 6,2011 at 10:15 A.M.
He was surrounded by the people who had taken care of him
and loved him the most which included numerous staff members
of Appalachian Animal Hospital in Newport, TN, who did
everything in their power to help him get well.
Although he was paralyzed and could not get up at all, his
tail was still wagging as we encouraged him to make the trip
to the rainbow bridge and wait for us.
Never have we seen a more loving and loyal dog. We never
heard him growl!! We know he will be waiting for us. We find
comfort in that!
Sent to us by Wayne Reynolds, Memphis, TN
IN LOVING MEMORY
Natalya, Siberian Huskey and Best Friend
1998-March 4, 2011
Natalya was a Siberian Huskey. She was at
times obstinate, at times willful, but always a dear. She
was my best friend. About 4 months ago she started to
develop numerous tumors. An ultra-scan showed a massive
tumor in her heart. Since she was 13 years old our options
were few. I gave her meds 3 times a day, including appetite
stimulants and Prednisone, among others. She rallied for a
while, but last week she took a terrible turn for the worse.
On Friday, Mar. 4th, 2011, we humanely had her euthanized
with her mom and dad at her side, holding her and telling
her how beautiful she is and how much she enriched our
lives. Being with her at the end was my last bit of kindness
to her. She devoted her life to us and I was determined to
make her passing peaceful for her. Natalya, you were and are
the light of my life! A good little girl, my “Honey Bunny.”
Sent to us by Robert C., Boston
I had always wanted a dog.
My parents were always good sports about it, and dealt with
my nagging and pestering with pictures of "adorable little
puppies." Finally I started browsing the dog ads in the
My mom began to help me, and finally we found it --
Miniature male dachshund. My mom has severe allergies, and
said "maybe some day," since the location was well far out
from where we lived and didn't want to give me false hope.
I remember her taking us out of the house on Christmas Eve,
driving herself, my brother and I all over town to look at
the Christmas lights even though we just wanted to go home
On Christmas morning, I thought it was a cruel joke when I
saw the dog carrier under the tree. I thought it was sick
that there was a leash and collar in my stocking. And I
almost peed my little-girl pants when I found my new puppy
nested inside his blankets. My little Gizmo.
Gizmo was named for the "Gremlins" Gizmo -- for inside that
little dog was an evil monster who lived to love and protect
me. He was trained to hate my brother with a burning
passion, while giving me his undying loyalty and love for
the rest of his days.
Right before Christmas of 2009, right before our anniversary
of 8 years, he suffered from a slipped disk in his long,
fragile spine. The vet gave us a hope that he could recover,
but when there was still no improvement on the second day,
we decided it best to let him go to doggy heaven on December
10th, 2009. I will never forget my best friend and his
devotion to me, and mine to him.
You're deeply missed.
Sent to us by Kristin, Seattle, WA
IN LOVING MEMORY
Bennie was a domestic shorthaired cat. I remember on that August day in 2007 when he first arrived at my home. He loved to play with his cat toys. No one other than me really appreciated or understood him. He and I were alike in that aspect. Bennie loved to play with stringy things, scratchy things, and catnip. He loved to eat dog food, cat food, and human food. One of my favorite memories was when he was looking at the fish aquarium, and he looked as if he wanted to eat the fish inside it.
Bennie also loved to play with the dogs (1 Chihuahua, 1 German Shepherd/Golden Retriever Hybrid). Even on his final days, he was still a joy to play with.
On September 20, 2010, sadly he passed away and went to kitty heaven.
I love you Bennie and I miss you!!!
Submitted by Kristian T, Atlanta, Georgia
IN LOVING MEMORY Moosie
My big, beautiful boy Moosie - my Maine Coon cat - died suddenly last night at about 9:00. He made a funny sound and then just fell over. I picked him up, he was unresponsive, I laid him on the sofa...but he was dead.
I am heartbroken, and I can't stop crying. He was so wonderful - sweet, quiet, majestic, warm. He was a good friend. He was very sensitive and, if I was ever really unhappy, he seemed to know and he would be very attentive. He was such a good listener.
We give our pets much care and love and - in drips and drabs - they give it back, some cats more than others. My other cats all have their own agendas. They play, they sleep, they hide, they fuss with each other. In general they are aloof, independent beings, who require some affection but usually keep to themselves. But not Moosie. But whenever my wife or I were present, Moosie's entire world would revolve around us. He wanted most of all to sit in a lap and be held and gently rubbed. Since he weighed in at 28 pounds this took us some getting used to, but the joy on his face and in his purring was so substantial that you accommodated him. When you did this, he rumbled like a motorboat and he was so loud you could hear it all over the house.
He never hissed at anyone, he came when he was called, and he was a gentleman and friendly to everyone. He endured the ministrations and fussiness of my other cats, especially Teddy, who bedeviled him when he was a kitten and attacked him mercilessly...but Moosie just held out his monster paw and gently pushed Teddy away...without any claws showing! I wish I could be as good at being a person as Moosie was at being a cat.
At this moment I swear I will NEVER get another cat, especially not a Maine Coon. I had another one, Big Boy, who died in almost the same way. We had a very special bond, Big Boy and I - even more of a bond than I had with Moosie. About 1/3 of all Maine Coons carry a gene that makes them tend toward early heart failure and blood clots...I guess I've drawn two weak ones in a row. It's about time I quit this game, I think.
Every time we love something we give an irretrievable part of ourselves to it. If the loved object disappears - and in time they always do - we are left empty and weak, hollow and scoured out like a melon. For a time we feel useless (as I do today). We vow NEVER to love ANYTHING ever again, never to make ourselves vulnerable to this sense of loss, this agony, this ripping out of your heart and your guts, this breathless screaming sobbing crying that doesn't ever seem to stop and if it does the crying burrows down deeper and your very soul feels and holds onto the pain. It's too much, it's too much, I'll NEVER ever let myself feel this way again...
As this has happened to me more than once in my life, I know I'll come out the other end of this awful place and there will be some light there, dim and watery...but at least the darkness will be gone. And then I know I'll do it again, probably. I'll hear a mew or see a sweet face at the adoption center or some little thing will creep up behind me when I'm working in the yard, and I'll smile at it and scratch behind its ears, and I'll open my heart up once more to the unselfish eternal love that only comes when you accept the risk of loss and pain. I guess there's a message there: Nothing is free in this life. Love received comes at a price, and there are dangers inherent in opening up the heart. Right now I think it would be better to feel nothing...and have nothing and no one...then there could be no sadness. But, of course, then there could be no joy ever, either.
At 9:01 PM last night my cat Moosie went away. His soft, warm body remained. The memory of his time with me also lingers. I have that to be grateful for, and I hope, wherever he is, he remembers me, too.
Submitted by James G., Detroit, Michigan
In LOVING memory
Norton was introduced to me in June of 1996 by my friend Cathryn, who brought him over one day unannounced. “He’s been living in David's barn for a year eating spaghetti and needs a real home,” she told me. I said, “Sure,” and she deposited the long stringy thing down on the threshold of the living room by the French doors and he ambled in, the first of thousands of endearing entrances.
Tyrone took to him right away and taught him all the respectable ways to act. Norton was a good student. He became one of the sweetest cats that anyone who met him ever encountered.
For the last fifteen and a half years, Norton has been my companion and a most tolerant one. For the last few years, he has had no feline company, but patiently withstood his days alone while I was away. He always greeted me enthusiastically when I returned, charging in from the barn as the car drove up. “Norty!” I would yell out, as with that ritual cry, I declared myself home.
The sheer span of events through which he has supported me is astonishing: the years commuting to New York, the frustrating years as a country lawyer, the revival of my career in Albany, the intense political years, relationship break ups, and the last twelve months where we spent nearly every day together.
Diane and Liz came to love him, too, through their devoted care-giving, as did many of you who came to appreciate him as he would saunter into a crowd--he loved a party--to see whose affections he could attract.
I can’t imagine ever having another cat like Norty, and I probably won’t try. These last few months have been trying, but also ones of grace and gratitude as the progress of the disease slowed sufficiently for me to get ready for this moment. Caring for him so completely every day just caused me to love him more.
Even near the end, Norty took walks with me in the woods, as in the past, dutifully following wherever I chose to lead.
This morning, we said goodbye to this gentle creature whose loving ways and sweet countenance will be forever a cherished memory. He is buried near his mentor and long time companion, Tyrone, under the white pine tree in the south field where he loved to roam and hunt.
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