The Difficulty of Saying "Goodbye" To A Good Friend

“My old black cat, passed away this morning;
She never knew what a hard day was;
Woke up late and danced on tin roofs.
If questioned “why?—answered, “Just because.”
--Ian Anderson, “My Old Black Cat” from the album Rupi’s Dance, 2004.


We are quite saddened today at the passing of our thirteen year-old black cat, Pepto. She was diagnosed with Kidney Failure and after a few days of fluids and IVs, our proud friend did not respond well at all. We simply could not stand to see her suffer.

I remember when she came home with us thirteen years ago; she was certainly Pam’s cat. She nuzzled her and kneaded her neck and purred. She was always spry and always attentive.

She was a rare animal that had a sense of our feelings. When we were upset, she would comfort us. 18 months ago when I had surgery, she made sure to sit in arm’s length of me, for a friendly pet on the brow or because she wanted my touch. I do not think it is ironic that she grew more ill after I returned home from surgery three weeks ago; there is a part of me that believes she sensed my illness and wanted to make sure I was OK.

This cat was so introspective of Pam’s moods and everything about her. She often sat lovingly in Pam’s arms and always had a chirp to announce herself. She would come running to the door to greet Pam and recognized the sound of her car or her keys at the door. When Pam was gone on a trip for ten days two years ago, I remember Pepto wandering around the house, making an almost whining sound, until Pam came home.

She truly loved us.

She did not care much for her “sister” cat, but she accepted her. They would often sit together and share body warmth and groom each other. She could be a "bully" to the other cat, but that was just Pepto’s way. Pepto let visitors and the rest of us know that she was number one.

Her illness was sudden and I suppose, if you are going to lose a pet, you would prefer to lose one suddenly. We tried all we could and the vet today commented that she was starting to go into renal failure. If she had not been euthanized, I honestly think she would not have made it another day or two. She was in pain, she was sick to her stomach, she was losing control of her bladder, and she was miserable. We love her enough to know when to say goodbye. Today we said, “Goodbye.”

As we sat and waited in a waiting room, Pepto HAD to explore it, sniffing and watching. She came and sat on my lap, as was her “thing” with me and then she would explore some more. She hugged with Pam a bit, nuzzled and licked me "goodbye" and then was given sedation.

We were and will be heartbroken for quite a while, but we knew it was the right thing to do.

There is a lesson for me, with two open heart surgeries on my record in the last 18 months. No day is guaranteed and we should live each day to the fullest—like Pepto did. I have also learned that we all matter. Pepto could be more than a bit stand-offish to most folks, but she was a loved and trusted family member to us. She truly mattered. "Goodbye, my good friend."