Losing Fur Babies
Well over a decade ago, my cousin had a cat. She was an outdoor cat who was allowed to roam the neighborhood, and one day, this roaming got her pregnant. When the kittens were born, my sisters and I were allowed to choose three, one for each of us. And thus, in early 2012, Thor and his sisters, Aphrodite and Athena, entered our household. As they slept in the basket that acted as their bed, my sisters and I congregated in my room, brainstorming names. Since they were siblings, we decided their names needed to have a theme. As you guessed, we chose divine beings.
Thor was often compared to Garfield. He was big, orange, and lazy. Unlike the cartoon cat, though, he was a sweetheart. Sure, he had a bratty streak and was an incredibly difficult patient, but he loved attention, jumped at his own shadow, and was always friendly to those who came over. Even as his body grew, his meow remained the same, small and kittenish. He loved boxes, found tables to be comfortable beds, and often made a snack of plastic, much to the chagrin of my family.
July of 2024, when my younger sister moved, marked the start of his downward spiral. His health had improved with the care of my mother and me, and remained stable until January of this year. His illness returned, and this time proved fatal. On March 25th, Thor passed away at the age of thirteen. The fact that he was sick didn’t make his passing any easier, and how he suffered on the final day of his life bothered me deeply. Overnight, he went from stable to dying. He spent his final hours in the arms of my mother and me, and I can only hope we provided him with some comfort as his soul left this Earth.
I, too, hope and believe that my mother and I gave his best friend, Skylar, some comfort as he passed away. Because on October 10th, Skylar joined him in feline heaven.
Unlike Thor, Skylar’s origins are less clear. But, on Christmas of 2011, my older sister and mother found him roaming around a neighborhood they were driving through, and picked him up. Initially, my sisters and I thought Skylar was a girl and named him Pixie. A more thorough investigation visit revealed that ‘she’ was a ‘he’, and his name was changed to the gender-neutral Skylar. A vet visit revealed he was just a baby, estimated to have been born in late October or early November. Immediately, he showed himself to be a smart boy with a big personality. During his life, he escaped thrice, returning feral each time. Despite wanting to run the streets, he loved chicken, potato chips, and attention. He often pawed and brushed against people who he wanted to pet him, just to bite them when he was tired of their rubs. Slaps, scratches, and bites weren’t only a way for him to express displeasure, but to get attention when he wanted something done. His favorite snack was lizards, and he enjoyed torturing any reptile that snuck into the house, biting little chunks out of them before going for the kill. He ruled the house with an iron paw, striking fear into the other animals, even after he got sick. I joked that he was a little psycho, while my mother insisted he was the king of the household.
However, death doesn’t discriminate, and even kings aren’t immortal.
Skylar had been in decline since Thor passed away. The two were close and often cuddled or lounged on tables together. Shortly after the death of Thor, Skylar was diagnosed with kidney failure. While Thor’s death didn’t lead to Skylar’s condition, I wholeheartedly believed his absence worsened it.
Many people downplay the deaths of animals, thinking that their lack of humanity means they aren’t deserving of the same level of grief. If you’re one of those people, leave now. Death is devastating regardless of the species it claims. Life is a beautiful thing, and all forms of life—save for mosquitoes and cockroaches—are worth cherishing. Thor was deeply cherished. His death was a blow, a wound that still hurts months later, and one that had salt poured into it when Skylar died. Never before had I experienced two pets passing away in the same way, and it’s something I hope I never have to deal with again.
Their absence has left a tangible void in our home, their memory lingering in every corner. Each time one of the other cats enjoys a delivery box, all I can think about is how much Thor would’ve loved to sleep in it. When I lay down for. a nap, I miss cuddling Skylar, as he loved when I craddled him as I slept the day away. The presence of our boys had been a comfort for over a decade. Each of their lives faded away in a single day, being reduced to urns on the mantel of the fireplace.
There is some comfort knowing that they are no longer suffering, that their illness can’t torment them any longer. As cliché as it is, their spirit is roaming freely in a better place. The thought doesn’t erase the pain, even if it does provide some solace.
As an animal lover, I wholly believe pets are an invaluable member of one’s family. As someone with depression, I can think of more than one occasion that the thought of my fur babies prevented me from enacting a reckless plan. Thor and Skylar had an impact, and their deaths were a reminder of the fragility of existence.
It doesn’t take much for death to enter my mind. Since Thor died, it’s been on my mind constantly. With Skylar’s passing, they’ve worsened. Everything alive will pass away—unless you’re a jellyfish. We are born to die, after all. Various cultures and almost every religion see life and death as interconnected. In a way, it’s comforting to see the two as an integral part of a cycle, the yin to the other’s yang, as opposed to two distinct endpoints.
On the other hand, that implies reincarnation, which I’ll only accept if my soul chooses a wealthy baby next time.
The point of that spiel was to say the inevitability of death doesn’t make life any less valuable. Dare I say, the opposite is true. Life is often taken for granted, and only when someone or something we care about is ripped from us do we remember what a treasure it is. The finite nature of existence increases its worth, and instead of realizing this amidst tragedy, it should be something remembered frequently. Easier said than done, I know, but something to consider every once in a while.
Months later, as I continue to process Thor’s death and mourn another beloved kitty after a rapid decline, I hold my remaining animals a little tighter, giving them extra treats and rubs in hopes they realize how deeply I love them. Thor was the quintessential ginger cat, and Skylar was a menace. That was part of their respective charm. They may have left this world, but their spirit continues to live on in our hearts, now and forever.
Until next time, dear readers
