Losing 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 daily lives. 

Adopting a new cat or dog (or turtle or snake) really helps fill the awful void. Knowing we can help an orphan who oftentimes 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 yours.

Rapscallion P. Cat, a.k.a., Rapper

 

You've met Rapscallion P. Cat, right, the fellow about whom I wrote, "Of all the men long gone in my life, I think he's the one I miss the most."  (You can find the story by clicking here, and more pictures here.)

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 course. 

I am writing this to send a salute to the guy, one of the best pussycats ever.

Sascha Cat

1994-2004

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 here. 

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.
 

Yoda
Beloved Friend of Elaine Giampietro
1990-2006

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 scratches."

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 attention.

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 evening.

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 next adventure.

As I read this, I hope it isn't TMI (Too Much Info).....I do tend to wax poetic....

Love to you,

Lainerz
“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.
 

Casey
1996-2006

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 tail!

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
 

Hunter
1983 (approx.) - April, 2006
In Memorium

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 106.

Jim Makichuk
 

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 of Center Sinai Animal Hospital kept him in good shape, even through his kidney problems, so much longer than anyone could have asked.

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 days.

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
 

Do you have a story and/or photo of having lost a pet that you'd like to share?  You can send it to us here, as the Steele family did above.  To send a photo see directions below:

Photos and text © 2004 Ina Hillebrandt