My cat Taiger died three weeks ago. He was my first and only pet, and we had him for 12 years. He was a scrawny little stray when he wandered onto our property, and from the very start, he and I were thick as thieves: he would come trotting up to me whenever I called his name, he followed at my heels wherever I went, and he would occasionally leave a dead squirrel for me in my slippers (gross, I know, but that’s true love right there). On October 25th, we had to put him to sleep.
Napping on Christmas 2010
It was a strangely devastating yet peaceful experience. I was the one who held him throughout the ordeal, and I will be forever grateful that I was able to hold him close to my chest just the way he liked one last time. But death is a very strange experience. It was anything but the quick and definitive procedure I expected it to be. After giving Taiger the injections, the vet had to listen to see whether or not his heart was still beating. Even though his breathing had stopped, at least visibly, the vet could still detect a faint heartbeat twenty minutes after giving him the injections. It turned out this was because of the way my body was interacting with his body: my heart was pounding so hard during the process that it was essentially beating through Taiger’s body, and the vet mistakenly thought it was his. Because of this, we’ll never know exactly what time he died, but it’s nice to know that our hearts were connected in those last moments.
Adventuring outside my house with my partner in crime.
Now I am trying to learn how to relate to the world as a grieving body. I have always been very much in control of myself and my emotions, but I no longer know how to do that. I was the kind of person who cried maybe once a year, but now there is a constant lump in my throat and my eyes always feel that telltale heat that comes right before tears start to well up and blur your vision. I am used to my body being a thing of discipline, but now it feels chaotic and out of control, and I no longer understand how to relate to it. I’m not sure how to act through this new vulnerability, but I’m learning.
Unruly Bodies 
This is a very true and honest post and very relatable for anyone who’s had to go through losing their pets. I think what’s so hard about pets is that they are always there and give you such an unconditionally pure, loving response every time you see them. I wish I could say that lump goes away quickly but that hasn’t been my experience. You never really stop missing them, but the thing that’s helped me and what I’ve always taken comfort in was that they were no longer in any kind of pain and that I was able to be there with them to make sure they left this world comfortable and knowing I was there with them, as it definitely sounds like you were.
I thought it was so beautiful and sad how your heartbeat was interacting with his. It’s almost as if you 2 loved each other so much that even your own bodies were connected. I’t hard to lose someone that you loved that much.
My sister is very close to her cat too. She has never been one to cry but one day he had an allergic reaction to his flee medication and she broke down crying after we gave him a bath. Like really sobbing which I don’t think i’ve ever seen her do before. Its really interesting to see how close and attached we become to our pets throughout the years. Her cat was a stray that came waltzing into her job in Bladensburg where there are stray cats left and right. These days she’s been in a funk ever since her cat had kidney failure which I also find interesting because I sometimes forget that animals have organs and things can go wrong with them just like they do with us.Its sweet to know you made him perfectly comfortable on his trip to the big litter box in the sky
This just totally destroyed me because I recognize how you’re feeling. I have a 13-year-old dog who is also blind and diabetic, and over the last few years I’ve watched her age dramatically. It’s very hard to see the animal you spent so much of your life so far with grow old and show it, and then die. I haven’t lost my dog yet but I can feel it coming and I’d like to know how to deal with loss too. I guess I’ll figure it out when the time comes. You keep on keeping on.
I am so sorry for your loss. I actually feel for you; i feel the lump in my throat as I write this and feel the sense of loss in the pit of my stomach. I will never get over the loss of my first cat. She was a runt so she always looked like a kitten and because she was small she was always pretty pissed off at everyone but me. It’s been 9 years since she passed but reading this brought all of those emotions back. I hope each day gets better for you; one day at a time.
This post was heartbreaking for me. It made me relive June 2012, when I had to put my cat down. We had the same kind of history, I got Dumbledore when I was a little kid and adopted him from the SPCA. I picked him from all the other cats and chose his name, and from then on he was my best buddy. He would follow me around the house all day and sleep curled up against me every night. Losing a close companion like that is one of the hardest experiences ever, and just like with any death, you have to hang on to the good memories and appreciate the life that occurred.
This post made me cry a little. I’m so sorry for your loss, and I understand the feeling very well. I’m still missing my cats terribly and it hurts to think about. You hit the nail on the head; being a grieving body is difficult to handle, and this past year or so I’ve been more emotional than ever before, both due to grief and other factors in my life. Getting to know my body and its emotions all over again is a roller coaster ride, and not a fun one, especially since the entire process is accompanied by the constant desire — need, really — to get everything under control again. I’ve found that sometimes, a good cry is what I really need to feel better for a while. It’s just hard “letting go.”