The day after Christmas 2020, I euthanized my best friend, a cat named Lima. She had been with me for 7 years: through 3 different living spaces; getting my license to practice therapy and starting private practice; and more recently, through COVID. Lima herself had truly lived her 9 lives and then some, having survived a major surgery after eating a foreign object, and then living with severe inflammatory bowel disease for her final 3 years. The IBD put us both through so much suffering. My nervous system began to match hers like a mom to a baby, and I’d go into a panic every time she’d start vomiting again. It was horrendous. I felt so helpless and scared. Countless vet visits and thousands of dollars. For those 3 years of her illness, I hardly left Lima. I dealt with resentment and anger and so much guilt. These are now feelings I know are very normal for caregivers. It can be such a lonely and invisible sort of suffering.
Lima’s IBD was getting worse in the summer and fall of 2020, right when I felt that I needed her most due to COVID’s isolation. Nothing we tried seemed to help. Eventually a test confirmed that her IBD had turned into cancer. I was absolutely devastated, and desperate to save her. For a while I tried giving her a chemotherapy medication to try to treat her cancer along with heavy steroids. She blew up like a balloon. No longer looking at all like herself. She was having all kinds of side effects, and the process of medicating her with the radioactive chemotherapy pills was impacting our relationship negatively. She was becoming afraid of me. I knew this was not the quality of life I wanted for her. We were both suffering too much. She stopped sleeping with me and would hide under the furniture for hours. I think she was telling me she wanted to die, to go home. I struggled with so much guilt around even considering euthanizing her. I kept feeling like I was letting her down somehow in not being able to save her.
I worked with an amazing organization called Lap of Love who do home euthanasia services. I cannot recommend them highly enough. They answered all my questions and gave me all the time I needed before choosing a day and time to say my last goodbye. I couldn’t do it right before or on Christmas; I didn’t want that memory. Yet once I made the decision, I knew it needed to be soon, so it would be the morning after.
I spent that Christmas alone just holding my sweet baby. I stopped the medication. I only gave her comfort meds I got from the vet. I fed her all the forbidden foods she couldn’t have due to the IBD like her absolute favorite: Cheese Its crackers. I told her over and over how much I loved her. I brushed her gently and gave her plenty of kisses.
When that dreaded morning came, I was falling apart emotionally, but I knew what I needed to do. The vet who came to my home was so kind and patient and respectful. She let me decide the right time, and she sat next to me while I said my last goodbyes. I held Lima like a baby as I often did throughout her life, and the vet gave her pain medicine to make her very calm and comfortable. She allowed us to be together for a couple minutes like that, while she was still in her body. Then, when I said I was ready, she injected the medicine that stopped Lima’s heart. As her heart stopped, mine shattered. I just let myself sob. I needed to hold her body and cry for at least a half an hour. I wish I had done so longer. We wrapped Lima up together in a blanket and put her in a basket. I had a paw print made and a clip of her fur, and I would later receive her ashes.
I lost time after the vet left with my dear Lima’s body. I didn’t know what to do with myself, with my grief. It was too much. I coped that day by cleaning. I cleaned every corner and crevice of my home. I think I was having some delusional belief that if I got rid of all Lima’s remaining cat hair, I could get rid of my grief. It didn’t work. The next day I washed and donated all of Lima’s remaining food, tower, toys, litter box, etc. to shelters or friends with cats. I couldn’t stand the reminders of her absence. Yet her absence was the biggest reminder of all. The grief came in waves, some small, and some violent and shattering. There was no escaping it. I knew I just had to feel it.
I moved not long after I lost Lima in that home. I could no longer stand to be in that space without her. Her absence too loud. I must admit there was something helpful about that move: a fresh start, a letting go. In my new home I have an alter space for Lima including her paw print, her favorite little mouse, some of her hair, some of her ashes, and a photo collage I made. I keep her photos around in every room.
After about a year in my new home I felt ready for another pet. This time a dog! Lima will never be replaced, but there is always more love to give. I fell in love again, and I have a best friend again. Yet my grief around the loss of Lima remains. It always will. I miss her terribly. All the things that made her so uniquely her. She lives in my heart. I love you Lima, furever and ever.
My own therapy was paramount to helping me get through Lima’s chronic illness and my grief. I needed a safe space to process all the different feelings I was having, and to work through and release my guilt. Four years later, I still talk about Lima in my therapy. I like to tell stories about her - her quirks - her misadventures - her cuteness. I also like to share her pictures. I keep a relationship with her, and this helps.
I’m sharing my pet loss story here because I hope it might help you feel like you can share yours with me. If your loss was sudden, that can be a traumatic experience as well. Pet loss is devastating, and I’d love to be able to support you through yours. If you live in California and are living with a chronically ill pet, or grieving a pet, I might be able to help. Please see my grief counseling page for more information about my practice.