Lessons in pet bereavement: More than ‘just’ a cat

Emma Heasman is a freelance copywriter who works from her home office. Stone was born in 1994 and died on Friday 22nd July 2016. She was Emma’s best friend, house mate and colleague (i.e. keyboard warmer and chief distractor) for almost 22 years. Gareth loved her for nearly as long.

I can hardly believe that it’s a year today since our beloved cat, Stone, died just weeks shy of her 22nd birthday. That’s 365 days since I last stroked her, 365 days since I last heard her meow, 365 days since we last cuddled up side by side. A year that’s gone in the blink of an eye and yet stretched out for an eternity.

I knew losing Stone would be hard. Looking back, I spent the last two years of her life in a state of anticipatory grief – seeing the end hurtling towards us but not being clear about when it would hit. The stress and responsibility were crushing, as was the feeling of impending tragedy. There were days when I couldn’t think of anything else.

People told me we would know when she’d had enough, that there would be a definitive moment when euthanasia would feel absolutely right, but I’m not sure that was true. There was no single moment, just a gentle decline into extreme old age that edged a little further towards us day by day.

All I know is that we eventually reached a tipping point where her bad days started to outnumber the good.

Her final week

During that last week of Stone’s life, the vet thought she might have a urine infection at first but it soon became clear we were dealing with something altogether more serious.

I slept on the sofa with her each night and fed her tiny bits of food so she didn’t have to get up. When she did wake, she spent hours pacing, trying to poo or wee, but her brain had simply stopped giving her bladder and bowels the signals they needed to work.

She was restless and lethargic at the same time. Still interested in life but trapped within an increasingly fragile body. She lost a third of her body weight in just four days – we could see her heart fluttering against her skin, a determined tattoo beating out her intention to stay for as long as possible. But the truth was that she couldn’t get comfortable. Increasingly, her legs would buckle and she would fall over, struggling to get up.

In the end, we just couldn’t bear to watch her suffer for a minute longer than necessary.

Even knowing this, I still question the timing of our decision. In her final hours, Stone ate a whole pack of ham, she drank water from her pint glass (she would never drink from a bowl – what did we think she was? Some kind of animal?!) and she even found the energy to walk around the garden.

Was it too soon? Would she have rallied round for a few more days, weeks or even months?

I suppose the answer comes back to that tipping point. The day she died was a better day – not a good one – but probably aided by a steroid injection, the vet’s last-ditch attempt to buy us some time. Would the days that followed have been bad or worse than bad? We’ll never know. We just couldn’t risk it.

Stone’s passing was unbelievably peaceful and dignified – aided by a deeply compassionate vet who came to our house to do the deed. We stroked and kissed Stone and told her how much we loved her and how grateful we were that she chose us. After the injection, her heartbeat simply faded away. A gentle sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes fixed on me until the end and then their sheen imperceptibly dulled. It may sound strange, but it was the best of deaths, the most any of us can hope for at the end of a life well lived.

Even with that cold comfort, I don’t think I could ever have imagined how hard or what a journey into grief this year would be.

Guilt and more guilt

I’ve felt a lot of guilt this year and wondered if I’m dysfunctional because I’ve felt more grief for Stone than for some deeply loved relatives and friends. What does that say about me? Is that wrong?

I suppose, rationally speaking, Stone was – in every way that matters – a member of our immediate family. My partner, Gareth, and I spent almost 22 years prioritising her needs, feeding her, sleeping next to her, cuddling her on our laps, letting her in and out of the house, stroking her. That’s nearly 8,000 days. They say you need to repeat an activity 27 times to make it a habit. When you repeat something multiple times a day for 8,000 days, it becomes more than a habit. It becomes a part of you.

I also felt guilty because, for the briefest of moments in the silence after she died, her fur still warm under my fingertips, I felt relief that I didn’t have to worry about Stone’s life ending anymore. The train that had been hurtling towards us from the day two years before when she stopped being able to climb the stairs had finally hit. At last, the unknown had revealed itself. I was able to stop thinking, “When will it happen?” because, finally, it had happened. It was like being in a horror film and, at last, seeing what was stalking us. My fear was tangible, the worst had happened. Now I just had to survive, a second at a time.

Of course, the relief only lasted for a millisecond. I would give anything to go back to a world that has Stone in it, even if it meant waiting for the train to hit again.

A disenfranchished grief

Despite Stone’s massive significance to our family, this year I’ve learned why pet bereavement is often referred to as a disenfranchished grief. I have learned that it exists in a state of unbearable loneliness. I suppose all grief does. But when a person dies, we have rituals, we send cards of condolence, recount stories from our shared times, make food for the bereaved, bring the loved one back into the room with our memories. The funeral is attended by friends and family. If the bereaved person cries or gets angry or retreats into themselves, we acknowledge their loss, even if we don’t fully understand the weight of it.

It wasn’t like that when Stone passed.

We were sent two cards – one from my brother and one from my parents. Beyond that, no-one mentioned her. There were days for months afterwards when I could barely function. I would look for Stone and she wouldn’t be there and the terrifying permanence of knowing that I will never see her again would hit me like a physical blow. But no-one noticed. I was screaming in the middle of a crowded room and no-one could hear me.

Immediately following her death, when peeling myself off of the sofa and stemming my constant flow of tears seemed all but impossible, I tried to take a few days off. I work for myself though and when I explained to a client why I needed a couple of work-free days, they quite honestly told me they didn’t ‘give a shit’ that my cat had died and that it wasn’t like I’d lost a member of my family. In fact, they told me they weren’t interested in ‘excuses’ with an almost audible eye-roll. Needless to say, they’re not a client anymore. Still, after that, I didn’t mention Stone to any of my clients but my work suffered in those long months of grief. My life suffered, as did all our lives.

I tried to talk about Stone and frequently found myself bringing her into conversation but it seemed to make people uncomfortable. I found that very few people want to hear or expect you to talk about a dead pet. I’ve sometimes felt that I was embarrassing other people – or, in their eyes, embarrassing myself – and they perceived me as being strange or emotionally immature for being so bereft about an animal.

Dog trumps cat, apparently, but “It’s not like losing a person”

I’ve learned too that, with pet bereavement, there seems to be a scale for accepted levels of grief. Four different people said, “At least she wasn’t a dog; that would be much harder to deal with”. Really? I wasn’t aware that dog trumps cat in the event of a bereavement. Then let’s not forget that old chestnut, “It’s not like losing a person. You can replace a cat”.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so ridiculous.

Yes, we could bring another cat into our family one day but it would never be Stone. A new cat wouldn’t walk to the shops or pub with 21-year-old me, or wait at the bus stop when it was time for 25-year-old me to come home from work. The cat who did those things can only live in Gareth’s and my memories now.

A new cat wouldn’t have specific meows for ‘Hello’, ‘I want to go out’, ‘Feed me’ and ‘Keep stroking’ or be the first animal my babies ever loved. Another cat wouldn’t drink out of a pint glass, only eat when we stroked her, wee over the plug hole of the bath in the case of emergencies, or only let Gareth or I tickle his or her belly. That unique combination of behaviours and idiosyncrasies belongs to Stone and only Stone. Animals aren’t interchangeable, any more than people.

Our love for Stone is so entwined with 22 years’ worth of memories from our 20s and 30s – a new cat couldn’t replace that. That’s not to say we couldn’t love again. We absolutely could and will one day, I’m sure. But there will only ever be one Stone.

A few people have said to me that cats are aloof and out for themselves and that’s why they’re not as mourned as a family dog. That was never our experience. Stone was the gentlest, sweetest and most loving creature I’ve ever encountered. As a kitten, she let my parents’ cockatiel ride on her back and my pet rabbit chase her round the garden. She snuggled up with our guinea pigs, let spiders crawl across her feet or children lay their head on her like she was the warmest, comfiest pillow in the world. She was never a cat with a killer instinct!

A kind of magic

It’s hard to explain what Stone did for me but it was something magical. All my life, I’ve felt a bit beige, a bit invisible, as though I blend so seamlessly into the background that one day I may just disappear. Inside, I’m a riot of colours and feelings but on the outside, there’s nothing to mark me out from the crowd.

But, as crazy as it may sound, Stone challenged that. She chose me. In a room full of people, it was me that she sought out, me she shadowed, my lap she slept on. She always looked to me for comfort and gave me comfort too. If I cried – no matter how far from home she was – she would sense my distress and find me. When I was crippled with depression, Stone was sometimes my only companion during the day and when I couldn’t sleep at night. She made me feel like I mattered, like she saw the truth of me. Her love was unconditional and I felt brighter for it.

I’m sure that’s part of what I miss so much – the unconditional love. Even though we love our children unconditionally, it’s only right that they grow, change and move towards independence. But Stone never did that. Her devotion and love for our family were constant – we were her whole life.

Living with grief

So, here we are, a year later. It took us months before we were able to move Stone’s pint glass from the living room. Gareth, the boys and I still struggle to sit in her spot on the sofa and subconsciously leave room for her, even now. Her blanket still sits folded on the arm of the sofa. We’re remodelling the house at the moment and part of me worries that Stone wouldn’t recognise it any more. My muscle memory of stroking Stone is so strong that, if I close my eyes, I can remember the feel of the short, velvety fur just above her nose or the softer fur under her chin.

Just a few weeks ago, I went out for a walk and realised that a stream of tears was falling down my face as it hit me for the millionth time that I will never see Stone again. How can that be possible?

The grief has become a part of me now – a dull, pulsing hole that I’m learning to live with but I don’t think I’ll ever fill. Sometimes the edges of the hole feel raw and gaping and I struggle to stop myself from falling in. Other days, I tiptoe around the edges of the hole, and the love inside – a vibrant ball of feeling that has nowhere to go – simply whispers instead of roars.

For months the pain was so raw that there were honestly times when I wished I’d never laid eyes on Stone (another source of guilt). I realised that we had voluntarily invited this shattering, inevitable bereavement into our lives 22 years ago, not only for ourselves but for our children too, and I felt so angry about it. I wanted the pain to stop, to be able to breathe again, to not feel as though I had lost a limb.

But, in my heart, I kept remembering a quote from the film Shadowlands:

“Why love, if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore: only the life I have lived. Twice in that life I’ve been given the choice: as a boy and as a man. The boy chose safety, the man chooses suffering. The pain now is part of the happiness then. That’s the deal”.

I have lived the truth of this quote since losing Stone. That beautiful girl gave us 22 years of unconditional love, devotion and joy. How could I ever regret that? The pain now is part of the happiness then. Grief is just love that has nowhere to go and I choose to see that love as the greatest of gifts.

Treat with compassion

If you’re reading this, you probably understand that a loved pet is never truly ‘just an animal’. If you’re not an animal lover though and a friend finds themselves grieving their lost fur baby, all I ask is that you treat them with compassion.

Hug them. Offer to cook for them or to go for a walk. Send them a card. Recognise that the daily routines that have shaped their lives have suddenly gone – the habits of 8,000 days shattered with that final, gentle breath.

Let them talk about their lost family member, because it is a family member who’s died in every way that counts.

Recognise their grief. Validate it instead of dismissing it. You may not understand it but that doesn’t make it less real. Bereaved pet carers often feel like they have to suffer in silence, so please do what you can to give them a voice.

And please, please never rank your friend’s loss on a scale of what you perceive to be the acceptable amount of grief. The hole a family pet leaves isn’t directly tied to its size or its lifespan. It cannot be replaced, nor would we want it to be.

Here at The Ralph Site, we understand all too well the intense feelings of pain, guilt and loss that can accompany the passing of a furry friend. Many of our community members report that when a much-loved family member dies, perhaps not surprisingly, those pets left behind appear to grieve too.

Just like us humans, animals can mourn in different ways, and some may show no outward signs of distress – any and all reactions are therefore entirely ‘normal’.
Where it is felt, grief in pets left behind may manifest in a number of ways, including:

• Actively looking for their departed companion
•  Loss of appetite
•  No interest in playing or interacting
•  Unexplained vocalisation
•  Changes in behaviour and temperament
•  Change in toileting habits

Whilst these signs can be explained by grief, clearly it is important to be sure that there isn’t an underlying medical reason for any changes you notice in your pet – consulting your vet is therefore always recommended if you are at all worried, or if any of these symptoms persist.

When you are consumed by grief yourself, it can seem tempting to try to shut off for a time. In fact, there is much solace and comfort to be found in interactions with any other household pets, and you should try to give them as much additional attention as possible – for their benefit as much as yours. Grieve together, but try not to reward any unhealthy behaviour they may exhibit at this difficult time. Eventually their grief should pass and their behaviour should normalise, just as it will for you.

Maintaining a routine with respect to feeding, exercise and so on will help, although some changes may be inevitable. For example, it may be simply too painful to take the same route for walks as you used to enjoy with other dogs. It is also important to try and avoid or minimise any additional sources of distress or stress that your remaining pets may be exposed to. For example, try to avoid leaving them alone for extended periods or taking a holiday when feelings are still raw.

It is generally accepted that many pets benefit from being able to see and smell the body of their deceased friend in order to provide an explanation for his or her sudden disappearance. Death is a natural process, after all, and this exposure can help to minimise the severity and duration of their grief. Even if it doesn’t, it is highly unlikely to worsen the situation.

One practical point to be mindful of though – if you are burying your pet’s body in the garden, it is probably best not to let any family dogs see the location, as this may lead to an attempted dig. It’s also a good idea to make sure that you dig the hole deep for the same reason.

Ultimately, as with our own displays of grief, a pet’s response to loss can be unpredictable and varied. Be generous with your time and emotions, tolerant of any small changes in behaviour and your patience will undoubtedly be rewarded with a strengthened bond with your faithful four-legged friend(s).

Until next time, very best wishes from Shailen and The Ralph Site team
The Ralph Site, non-profit pet loss support

Please note: The Ralph Site is not affiliated with the third-party organisations in any of the links shared here, and the views, ideas and suggestions expressed in this and other blogs are simply shared with the intention of helping you, our friends, take care of the special animals in your lives.

In the latest of our series of mini interviews with friends of The Ralph Site we heard from Susan Quinn, who has given us some wise words of advice for anyone experiencing the loss of a much-loved companion.

1. Do you currently share your home with any pets? If so, please tell us about them.

Yes, I have two Senegal birds that have been with me since they were babies (they are now five years old). There’s also Pudsey, my rescue Cavapoo, who came to me at six months old. He will be two later this month and he’s already a bundle of mischief!

2.What was the name of your first pet?

My very first pet when I was young was a cat called Smokey, although sadly he got run over.
Then there was a budgie called Joey. The first animal I chose as an adult was a ginger cat called Kitty.

3.Why did you choose the name?

I lacked imagination back then I think, it was not a very original name for sure!

4.Cats, dogs, or another species? Can you choose?! And why?

I love all animals, but if had to choose it would be a dog – they are the full package, so to speak.

5.What is your favourite memory of an animal who has shared your life?

The first character to spring to mind is my soul mate Buster, he was a miniature brown poodle and he adored the snow. We made many happy memories playing and throwing snowballs for him, he just loved it so much. In fact he often had to be defrosted when he got back indoors!
He really was a wonderful boy.

6.Which three words would you choose to describe him?

Simply the best.

7.What is your favourite fictional animal and why?

Dumbo, from the Disney movie. I went to see it when I was young and just loved the story – it was sad at first but it all came good in the end.

8.If you could be any animal, which one would you choose and why?

I’d be a bird – I’m a bit of a free spirit and so to be able to fly anywhere, anytime would be good.

9.What advice would you give to someone who is grieving for a much-loved pet?

Come to a site such as The Ralph Site, where you can find the unconditional support and understanding you need. Don’t bottle it all in and feel isolated when others say “it’s only an animal, get over it” etc. We understand how you feel, because to us too, they are so much more than that.

10.When and how did you come across The Ralph Site? What do you think is the most important role of The Ralph Site community?

I had recently lost Barni, my Chihuahua, and I was feeling very down because my friends didn’t really appreciate how bad it feels to lose a pet. I typed ‘pet loss’ into Facebook and The Ralph Site popped up. It was the best thing ever – to find kindred people who instinctively understood how raw I was feeling, willing to give their time to listen and support me, meant everything. As a bonus I have since made lots of new friends along the way. The fact that most people stay on the site to help others speaks volumes about the strength of the community and the kindness of its members.
I for one would never leave, it gave me so much.

We’ll be featuring regular mini-interviews with friends of The Ralph Site in future; so do keep an eye out every first and third week of each month!

Until next time, very best wishes from Shailen and The Ralph Site team
The Ralph Site, non-profit pet loss support

In the last week of every month we take a look back at the crazy creatures and amazing animals that have made the headlines in recent weeks. Here’s a reminder of what June’s headlines told us about some of the animals that share our planet:

Koalas facing extinction in some Australian states

The World Wildlife Fund issued warnings this month that as a result of increased deforestation and livestock attacks the koala population could be wiped out in some of the country’s Eastern states. Queensland has already seen a 53% drop in numbers, with New South Wales reporting a 26% decline. Increasingly, animal welfare organisations are handling cases of animals fatally injured as a result of horses and cattle biting and stamping on them. Part of the problem appears to be the fact that many koalas are spending more time on the ground, as their natural forest habitat is removed by commercial logging.
Fortunately the Australian government has announced new funding for koala conservation projects, in a bid to drive population numbers back up in the worst affected areas.

#dogsatpollingstations returns!

With this month’s general election came the return of a national institution – social media posts of dogs waiting outside at polling stations whilst their humans vote. The Electoral Commission’s rules state that dogs can actually enter the polling station in an ‘accompanying’ role, but they have to be kept on a lead at all times and must not ‘disrupt’ the vote. In fact, most canines are left outside on election days, with their patience / handsomeness / napping / comedy bored faces (*delete as appropriate!) captured on camera and posted online for admiration by the public. There are no firm rules on the attendance of other animals, but this year a number of horses were also snapped waiting outside as their riders voted.

Until next time, very best wishes from Shailen and The Ralph Site team
The Ralph Site, non-profit pet loss support

In the latest of our series of mini interviews with friends of The Ralph Site we heard from Shelley Mowbray, who has given us some wise words of advice for anyone experiencing the loss of a much-loved companion.

1. Do you currently share your home with any pets? If so, please tell us about them.

Sadly no – after losing Archie, our beautiful fourteen and a half year old Cavalier King Charles last June, as a family we are still not ready to open our home to another little fur-puppy…yet!

2. What was the name of your first pet?

Lassie. She was a stunning tri-colour border collie and I had her from a puppy when I was three years old.

3.Why did you choose the name?

I think she was named after the popular children’s TV programme ‘Lassie’.

4.Cats, dogs, or another species? Can you choose?! And why?

It’s always dogs for me. We’ve had many pets over the years – hamsters, rabbits, guinea pigs, dogs and birds – but my heart will always be won over by the unconditional love of a dog.

5.What is your favourite memory of an animal who has shared your life?

Oh my goodness, Archie gave us fourteen and a half years of precious memories, but my absolute favourite would be the excitement he had about Christmas.. Archie adored Christmas! From laying on my wrapping paper while I tried to gift wrap, to crawling under the tree and getting covered in pine needles, and not forgetting the overwhelming excitement of opening his presents. When Santa had been on Christmas Eve, Archie would sit by his pile of pressies and, like our girls, he would be allowed to open one gift before bedtime. He would hold the present in his little paws, while ripping off the paper and throwing it over his shoulder!

On Christmas morning he would run downstairs in front of me and wait patiently by his gifts until I’d made breakfast and the family was downstairs, when the mayhem of parcel opening would begin. We had the exact same ritual every single year. Who said dogs don’t have memories?! Archie personified the magic of Christmas for us.

There are many little memories I shall miss. I miss his snoring. I miss how he would wait for me on the stairs with his legs crossed like a grumpy old man when I’d been gone longer than was doggy acceptable. I miss his commando walk across the carpet, I miss our snuggles and the smell of his warm neck when he had just woken up. A lifetime of ‘little misses’ that make up my memories.

6.Which three words would you choose to describe him?

Loyal, patient and lovable.
On one of our many visits to the vets in Archie’s later years, the vet looked into his eyes and said, “This boy has a beautiful soul”. If I could sum him up, it is with those words.

7.What is your favourite fictional animal and why?

Pooh bear. Wise old Pooh, with his many quotes full of wisdom. My children adored him.

8.If you could be any animal, which one would you choose and why?

A dog. My husband has always said he thinks I was one in a previous life (in the nicest possible way, you understand!) as I always curl up in front of the fire to toast my bones in the winter. It was a fight between me and Archie who got the closest. He always won of course!

9.What advice would you give to someone who is grieving for a much-loved pet?

Let yourself grieve, allow yourself to cry and talk about your pet to keep him alive in your heart. Many people who are not lucky enough to have known the deep love of a pet family member will not understand this. You may see their eyes roll, or get the comment “it was only a dog/cat” or “aren’t you over it yet?” All these things are said and thought by people who have missed out on so much. The love we share with our pets is often deeper than the love we have for some humans. I grieved so deeply for Archie I literally thought I would fall apart. I was lucky to have a husband who took a week off work to be with me and share in the sadness, and two beautiful girls who shared my pain too.
Do not feel you have to hide your pain. Grief is grief no matter whether in human or animal form, and should be accepted and respected as such.

10.When and how did you come across The Ralph Site? What do you think is the most important role of The Ralph Site community?

I came across the site while I was wracked with grief and guilt at having had to make the hardest decision to help our Archie cross over to the Rainbow Bridge. Even though I had the support and love of my family, I was grieving so much deeper than anyone else. That’s not to belittle my family, they would agree with me. My husband and girls went back to work and kept themselves busy, but my life for fourteen years (especially the last two years) had totally revolved around Archie. I wondered round the empty house in a daze, not understanding why I felt so totally bereft.

I googled and then facebook searched ‘pet loss’, and there was my answer – The Ralph Site has been my rock. I know I can go on there at any time of day or night, whether it’s to put up a random memory or photograph, or to share my utmost sadness when the grief has been too much that day, and there will always be someone there – not judging me, but with a kind word and a listening ear. Sharing photos of Archie and having a lovely comment underneath it may not mean much to some, but to me it means the world. It means someone has looked at my beloved boy and seen what I see and miss.

The most important role of the site, I feel, is providing support and understanding. Letting each other know its OK to grieve. It’s OK to want to scream at the world and ask why? It’s OK to just not be OK today. Understanding the grief of our pet family is unique; it’s why this site is so important. I was explaining it to my eldest daughter and she was very sceptical about sharing my pictures and feelings about Archie. Only after explaining to her that The Ralph Site had actually got me through those excruciatingly sad moments that I didn’t want to burden anyone else with, that I hadn’t wanted to make the family around me sad by bringing up my sadness, that I could talk and comfort others in the same situation with a kind word, did she get it.

Thank you Shailen for The Ralph Site.
I shall always be forever grateful x

We’ll be featuring regular mini-interviews with friends of The Ralph Site in future; so do keep an eye out every first and third week of each month!

Until next time, very best wishes from Shailen and The Ralph Site team
The Ralph Site, non-profit pet loss support