Just because somebody has the ability to perceive messages from the world of spirit doesn’t make a death any less painful. That came into sharp clarity this week as my wife and I lost our final cat, Cosmo. I say “final” because he was the last of four cats we had since getting married over fifteen years ago. Our house has always had furry animal companions, yet no matter how much planning you do (“After he passes, we will do this…”) it doesn’t prepare you for such grief.
For Cosmo, he interacted with us in every part of our lives at home, as most pets do. If I was at the drawing board, he was always two feet behind me, curled up relaxing and then getting up to demand some attention about every 15 minutes. For my wife, he would join her for yoga routines – slipping in underneath her while doing downward dog, or climbing on top of her while she laid flat on the mat. We had our morning rituals, we had our playtime every night of “aliens” – where he would chase the outside front door light bouncing off my watch onto the coat closet door. He knew it was a game that we shared, as he would often meow at me to get off the couch and get over into the hallway to play the game. He was a very social cat, often talking in complete sentences with his meowing. You could talk back to him, and he would respond in turn. He was much more like a sidekick rather than an aloof cat looking only for attention on his terms.
And then one day, after sixteen years of this life together, he was gone.
We knew something was up about a month ago, when he suddenly wasn’t eating the way he used to. Then he got Horner’s syndrome – where one pupil is a little smaller than the other, and the third eyelid ends up covering half the eye. Normally, Horner’s doesn’t produce appetite problems, which was really the main thing we were having challenges with. Then last weekend, we noticed a mass was deforming the right side of his neck. It wasn’t a good scenario. For the most part, he was still interacting with us with a good amount of energy and vigor, though he wasn’t (and potentially couldn’t) eat the way he used to. He had to be starving.
We took him into the emergency vet on Monday to try and determine what the growth on his neck was, if this was contributing to his appetite suppression, and if there was any treatment – or heaven forbid – we had to make a traumatic decision. On some level, Cosmo had to know the heartbreaking difficulty making that choice would have been, so he made it on his own. Turned out the mass was cancerous. During the examination, like a ticking time bomb, the growth “exploded” on its own, releasing a toxic amount of histamine throughout his system, killing him instantly. If it hadn’t happened at the vet, it would most likely have happened at home by the end of this week.
Again, grief happens no matter your ability to perceive impressions from the Other Side. Oddly, two weeks earlier while I had opened myself up to prepare for a mediumship reading on Zoom, I noticed the spirit of my other cat, Jasper, immediately in my field of spirit awareness (I wrote about his passing last year and the messages he sent immediately afterward here). It surprised me, as he had never done that before. I took it as a sign that he knew things were happening with his brother, but I don’t think I was ready to deal with the message “I’m here to receive him.” Now I know that is why he was there.
Through this loss, I’ve paid close attention to my grief. It comes in many different shades. One moment, there has been a sense of such blessing – the joy of having had an amazing and wonderful life with Cosmo (and our other furry animal companions); at other times, it feels like my soul just wants to explode from my heart, as the pain is so intolerable. Our spirits do become so accustomed to having that presence and personality there… Spiritually and intellectually, I know Cosmo is still there, quite alive… Yet during those moments of grief I find myself crying out “Where is my boy??” Our psyches, our minds, our souls are habituated to the relationship and we never want it to change.
But we cannot stop evolution. One thing I’ve learned over years of doing mediumship is that relationships still remain. Even more, these relationships can continue to evolve and grow, but it is different than what we’re used to. Jasper has let us know several times that he is with us -- he’s appeared in dreams, thrown deliberate images our way to say “HELLO! I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN YOU!” – heck, he’s occasionally intruded on a couple of readings with clients. I suspect Cosmo will do the same.
But there will always be grief at the passing. It is a recognition of the depth of love in the nature of the relationship.
My wife and I are empty-nesters now. Though we could immediately run out and adopt another pet, we’ve decided not to. We want to cherish the life we’ve had with our furry family – in our minds, they cannot be replaced, so we are choosing to hold off on trying to put a band-aid on our pain and placing an unfair burden on another animal to bury our sorrows. No. I think the best way to honor the life we have had with our pets is to accept the grief that comes in losing them. The greatest love should naturally result in the greatest pain when that transition happens. That is truly the depth and breadth of what love brings.
Life will not be the same. It is not meant to be. When I was finally at a calm moment enough to make an attempt at meditation on Wednesday, a quick message came through:
“You have been given a new canvas in life for which to paint upon. However… you don’t have to pick up the brush right away. Only do it when you’re ready. And when you do, you only have to paint one line at a time. Let there be space between each stroke.” In other words, honor the grief. A lifetime of love from our animal companions is an immeasurable gift from the Great Spirit… It takes time to reflect upon it, to allow its breadth to work its fullness within the dimensions of our soul.
