On November 11, we laid to rest my beloved cat of 16 years, Puff. She has walked with me through so much of my life, and she deserves at least one blog post for her. And yes, she’s a cat. But she was mine, and I’m the one who knew her best and feels her loss deepest. So here are some beautiful memories of my special girl that I want to share. Unlike a person, she has no obituary in the paper, no fancy service, so let me give her a blog post. It's the least I can do for such a dear friend.
I have to start with when I got her. I have always loved cats, and those who knew me as a child will know that my love was near obsessive. I had wanted a cat for years, and it was finally time for me to have one. We went to farms where people were giving away kittens, and we looked at the humane society, to no avail. On the day before I started seventh grade, we decided to try the humane society one more time, and there she was. It wasn’t one of those starry eyed love-at-first-sight moments, I honestly don’t think I’m a person who has those. But she was a sweet, pretty girl who would get along with the current ruler of the house, my brother’s cat, Kuzco.
When we brought her home, she was very quiet, not meowing, but only giving the occasional trill and purring. That cat spent most of her waking hours purring, always happy. We noticed that the fur was rubbed off of her little forelegs from reaching through the bars of her cage. Poor thing needed lots of attention, and who better to give it than someone who had literally read the encyclopedia entry on cats multiple times?
As we got to know her, we kept finding that Puff was…perfect. Not only was she a lovely cat to look at, with her long silky tortoiseshell fur and round, orange eyes, she was nice. She didn’t scratch or bite, and she liked being around people, even submitting to being carried around on her back and having her belly rubbed. She kept herself very clean and well-groomed, and she used the litter box perfectly from day one. She was even quiet to boot, so we gave her a collar with a bell, otherwise we couldn’t find her. She only meowed in distress, the rest of the time she spoke in a sweet little trill. What on earth was she doing at the humane society? Who would give up such a great house pet?
However she got there, she was mine now, and nothing could keep us apart. Every morning, my mom would use her to wake me up for school, knowing I was awake when I reached up to give my girl her morning hug and skritches. This was short lived, however. She would run off and proceed to get a case of “the wildies” or as the internet affectionately calls it, “the zoomies.” She would race around the house as I got ready for school, eyes wide and tail fluffed up.
When I would come home from school, she would meet me at the door to be scooped up and cuddled. If I had a bad day, my mom would bring her to me for comfort. It didn’t make my problems go away, but it’s nice to have a little living creature that’s happy to see you and thinks you’re the best thing ever. I would read in bed every night, and Puff was my little book rest. She would sit by me and politely look at my book, then look at me until I accommodated and lifted my book for her to sit on my lap.
Puff had to be involved in whatever I was doing. She would sit right in the middle of any craft project like she belonged there and petting her was an important part of the process. Making beds was near impossible without locking her out of the room, or else she would insist on being made into the bed. Every year when the Christmas decorations came out, there was a little pile of orange and black sticking out of the garland. I didn’t have the heart to make her stop, it was so cute.
When I went to college, I couldn’t bring pets, so Puff had to stay with my mom. Apparently, she would look for me whenever I left and was happiest when I was home. Even though she was mostly cared for by my mom, she was still my cat.
Though she was definitely mine first and foremost, Puff never met a stranger. If guests were in our house and sitting down, my little furball had to make the lap rounds and see who gave the best pets. She was particularly fond of people with long legs because they had the most lap to stretch out on. Ever the little lady, she would daintily hop onto a lap and settle herself down, purring and asking for pets. Even people who didn’t like cats had a hard time resisting such a cutie. You had to at least give her a few pets, it would be cruel not to! Over the years, she melted more than a few hearts. It gave me a sense of pride to hear “I don't normally like cats, but I like this one.” My little charmer.
When I moved to Texas, I initially didn’t bring Puff with me because I didn’t have a job and wasn’t sure I would be able to afford the pet deposit. But by the grace of God and nothing less, I quickly found a job and built a nice little life. But I missed having someone greet me at the door, or a furry creature on my lap in the evenings. I wanted a cat. I asked my mom if I was crazy to want a cat and she replied with “Can I bring your cat when I visit?” And of course I said yes. I was reunited with my fur baby once more!
My friends in the area, who had heard me talk about my darling cat, finally got the chance to meet Puff. They are good people, so of course they petted her when she jumped on their laps. She left her furry little pawprints on every heart. Her presence was a welcome staple of every gathering in my apartment.
When I met Alex, the man who would become my husband, he shared a house with several other people, so no pets. But he had always liked cats especially, and was quite pleased when Puff jumped onto my lap during a video date. When he met her in person, he quickly fell in love with her (Quicker than he fell in love with me? Maybe). He suddenly had to adjust to having his work or games constantly interrupted by an orange and black intruder who needed attention right this second. And he loved it. When he worked from home, he would send me pictures of her just being cute. He loved scooping her up and cuddling her. She absolutely stole his heart, and she knew it. Puff had Alex wrapped around her little toe bean.
When she was 13, she became half the cat she was, losing weight at a rate that made no sense given her appetite. She had never been a big eater and had no interest in most human foods (except going feral on the occasional empty tuna can), but she was still eating her normal amount. I took her to the vet. They wanted to runs some blood tests, so I went to work and waited for the call.
I was sure that Puff had some life-threatening condition, work was not easy that day. I was terrified that I’d be leaving the vet’s office with an empty carrier that day. I got the call to come pick her up, and it was good news. She had hyperthyroidism, totally manageable with daily medication. Puff has never had a problem taking pills, and the pills were cheap, so I was overjoyed that my girl still had some time with me.
Puff was never much of a “chatty” cat, but as she got older, her trills became so human it was almost uncanny. She had one that was a perturbed “Mom” when I pulled her away from something she shouldn’t be getting into, like a drawer I was about to close. She had one that was “Hey,” for when she was disturbed from a nap. Still another was “Huh?” when something new confused her. She truly was a “people” cat, and it was funny.
Older cats need a little extra care and consideration, and Puff certainly needed that in her old age. I kept an ottoman next to the bed to make jumping up and down easier on her joints. I gave her wet food to help her with constipation. Her fur started getting knots because it was hard to groom, so I brushed her (despite her protests). I don’t begrudge it one bit. For every moment of “Ugh, I have to brush the cat and make her mad again,” there are a thousand moments of “Awwwww, she’s purring!” She was a happy little old lady, content to sit on a lap or a pillow and get skritches. When I got Puff, I didn’t consider that she would be waiting for me after my wedding, or that she would explore the backyard of my first house. But she did those things, and I’m so grateful.
On the evening of November 6, 2023, she started walking like she was off-balance, and seemed fussy and distressed. I was really worried, because a 16-year-old cat with a chronic condition can’t handle very many serious treatments. We got an appointment for Wednesday, and I told myself that it was an ear infection or something.
On Wednesday, I went to the vet with Alex to pick her up. She had kidney failure, and while she wasn’t suffering very badly at the moment, we would need to schedule the dreaded final vet visit sometime in the next week. I had mentally prepared myself for this moment as much as I could, but it still broke my heart. I’m glad I prepared myself, because I was still able to look at the vet with tears streaming down my face and say:
“Can you do Saturday? She’s a very well-loved cat and I want our friends to say goodbye to her. And I want to sit with her on Friday night.”
He checked the schedule, “We’re technically booked, but we can stay a little late. How about 4:30?”
And there it was. My time with my cat was no longer measured in years, months, or even weeks. I only had three days left.
I sent messages to my friends, inviting them to sit with me and my cat in her last days. I made her comfortable on the couch, and planned to spend as much time with her as I could. She was still eating, so I gave her the best wet food. She was so wobbly and unsteady, she couldn't climb into her litter box. We made her a makeshift potty pad in a corner, we felt she deserved a small bit of dignity. Alex and I sat with her and cried, knowing that we were doing our best, but hurting all the same.
The next morning, Puff seemed weaker than ever. Not in pain, but so unsteady and limp on the couch. I went to work looking like a wreck. My eyes were red and puffy, and my voice was constantly choking up with tears. I hated being away from Puff for any of her last hours, but I knew that taking off last minute to be with a pet is probably not the best use of my limited vacation days. My coworkers were all very sympathetic and understanding, they knew that Puff was a special part of my life, and some of them had lost long-time pets, too. I decided to hide in the lab so patients wouldn’t think I was sick, with my red eyes and sniffling. Seeing how weak she was, I was terrified that she would pass away while I was at work, with no one beside her. That thought alone made tears fall anew.
When I made it home and saw her still peacefully sitting on the couch, I cried with relief (this story is going to have a lot of crying). I went into the kitchen to make some dinner, and who should hobble her way into the kitchen just to be near me? My frail, tired little kitty! I held her and sort of cooked with the other hand until she was ready to settle back on the couch. When I sat down with my food, she was determined to get at my bowl. It was a burrito bowl with all kinds of things in it that are bad for cats, but I couldn't deny her a little something. I had Alex bring me some wet cat food and a spoon, and I fed her on my lap, pleased that she still had a good appetite. We watched nature documentaries because my heart couldn’t take much else, and I worked on a craft project. She could hardly walk, the poor thing, so I lifted her down from the couch when she wanted to and followed her around to pick her up if she fell on her way to the potty pad or food bowl.
Friday, Alex was off for Veterans’ Day, so he could stay with Puff and make sure she didn’t fall and hurt herself. After I got home, several friends came over to say their goodbyes. They all saw how weak she was and assured me that it was time. Tears were shed over her, and she made the lap rounds one last time. Sick as she was, she was still Puff, and she needed laps.
Alex and I both slept on the couch before the fateful Saturday, neither of us could stand to be away from her. I woke up on that awful morning with Puff curled up on my chest. I have woken up with Puff on my chest hundreds of times over the years, but this is one I will remember forever. I gave her the last dose of the painkillers from the vet, fed her more wet food with a spoon, wiped her clean with a pet-safe wet wipe, and sat with her. What else can you do as you count down the last hours of your furry friend’s life?
One more friend came to sit with us, and the hour grew near. She napped in the sun on the porch, munched on food, and was as sweet a cat as she had been her whole life. Alex and I wrapped her in a blanket and carried her on one last trip around the house, showing her all of her favorite places. She was so weak, she didn’t need a carrier, so I held her as Alex drove us to the vet.
The vet’s office is located inside a Petsmart, and as we walked in, the clerk said “What a beautiful cat!” and noticing that she had no carrier, “Is she sick?” Through tears, I said gently “She’s very old and crossing the rainbow bridge today.” I’m sure the clerk was mortified, but I was secretly proud of my little girl. Charming everyone right to the end.
I showed the vet techs a picture of Puff as a kitten so they could see what a lovely girl she was. The vet told us what would happen, that Puff would go into a deep, peaceful sleep, slipping away quickly and without pain. He assured us that we were making the right choice, saving her from a painful, lingering death. I knew in my head that it was best, but my heart broke for my dear friend.
Alex sat in a chair nearby and I stood at a table as they brought Puff in, a needle in her foreleg to make things go smoothly. I petted her and told her how much I loved her, that she wouldn’t hurt anymore, and she could visit me any time, if that’s something cats do. She was so limp, I didn’t feel her fall asleep. She was so weak, she passed away almost immediately when the vet gave the final shot. The last thing she felt was my hand stroking her fur, and the last thing she heard was my voice speaking words of love. That’s how it should be. If my dear Puff has to die, then she dies knowing that she was loved.
The vet took her to put her into a box for us, and Alex and I wept together. What else is there to do at that moment? We took our little box to the car, and I had to remind myself that it didn’t matter if I jostled the box on the way home. The contents would no longer be frightened or fuss.
When we walked into the house with no cat, Alex cried again. It was real. We no longer have a cat. He went to the backyard to dig the grave, and I took on the sad task of removing all evidence of a pet cat from our house. I cleaned up the litter boxes and potty pad, a chore I always hated, but would do a thousand times over for my Puff. I washed out the food and water bowls, not refilling them this time. I threw away what remained of Puff’s thyroid medicine, those little pills that had bought me three more years with her. No matter how long she lived, I feel like it would never be enough for me to repay the love and joy she brought to me. Her little paw prints are all over my heart, and many other hearts as well.
Once the grave was dug, we laid Puff to rest with a poem: “If I Should Grow Frail” by Julia Napier. I encourage anyone dealing with the loss of a pet to read this poem, it’s beautiful. Puff will watch over the backyard forever. We have a little stone kitty to mark her grave, and we’ll have white daffodils in the spring. She’ll always be close to hand.
I didn’t throw away the empty litter boxes or food bowls. I will need them again. Alex and I want another cat. In fact, we want two cats. We plan to adopt a pair of littermates in the new year. I won’t look for ones like Puff. I’ll never find another Puff, and it wouldn’t be fair to my new babies to compare them to her. She was one-of-a-kind, and I’m honored that I was able to share her whole life, from kittenhood to the final moment.
After Puff was laid to rest, I kept accidentally looking for her. I would see a shadow or hear something that was a bit like her tag jingling, and instinctively look for an orange and black pile of fur. But she’s gone. I won’t find her in the cushions of the couch or on my pillow. It hurts, but not like it did a while ago. It hurt more to see her suffer than to know she’s gone. The house feels too quiet, and the bed feels empty. But know this: I will take these days of tears and the ache in my heart if it means I got to share the life of such a wonderful creature. A week or two of being an emotional wreck? A pittance compared to years of scooping her up every day and hearing her purr. The loss hurts, but it only hurts this bad because the bond we shared was so great.
Thank you, Puff. Thank you for every moment on this earth. You were a blessing and a joy. May we meet again in a better place. Until then, sit on the laps of angels.
