My Cat Was My Mental Health Carer

Not all carers come in human form, and our grief shouldn’t be dismissed when they leave us …

Lisa’s cat Bible was more than just a ‘pet’.

Losing a pet is devastating. Pet grief should never be dismissed. Especially, if you live alone, your pet is always there to keep you company and provide unconditional love. Pets are real family members that we spend most of our lives with. We hug them, in my case about 10 times a day. We chill on the couch with them every night. We play with them. They sit with us when we are upset or ill. They excitedly greet us when we get home. While my cat, Bible wasn’t visibly excited, he was always there waiting for me on the driveway after work. He had a cat flap, but he loved to come in with me every night. And no, I was not the one that named him Bible. He was my husband’s cat. 

Bible was always more than a cat to me. After my partner and I had separated amicably I became very happy only living with my cat. Being a Cat Lady was something I was very proud of. I used to tell everyone that my cat was my life companion and soul mate. It was not a joke. With a busy social life, my cat was enough company for me at home.  He was my sanctuary, the one who I relaxed with, did everything with really.  

When he died, I realised that Bible had become my mental health carer. Hs death enlightened me to how much he had helped me with anxiety. He was always with me after my husband’s death. He was a carer for me as the bereaved. Then a few months later when I got breast cancer, he started sleeping with me all the time. As my life got more turbulent, he became less distant. 

I had what my radiographer termed the ‘garden variety estrogen positive breast cancer’.  Treatment was chemotherapy and other horrible drugs, but lifesaving too. The drugs induced early menopause to block the estrogen causing cancer in my body. I still have the heavy menopause 9 years later. I have always had anxiety, but this treatment made it permanent and much more intense. Hot sweats, anxiety and loss of libido are all better than being dead though. Waking up multiple times with night sweats and a racing heart wasn’t so bad with my cat beside me. I could pat him and that always made me feel better. He truly was my carer. Then I had to go it alone. 

For most of his years Bible was a standoffish cat. He liked pats and would hang out, but he was never a lap cat. It changed though; in the last few years we became extraordinarily close. We had our routines. I had recently bought a bigger bed but not just for my benefit. I had his spatial requirements in mind. I wanted us both to be comfortable as we always slept together. He used to come up to my pillow for a hug and pats to say good night, then he would go off to sleep at my feet. 

I started to notice his tummy was becoming round like a ball. I had a bad feeling. I hoped that I was wrong and that he was just getting old and fat. But he started to swell up noticeably. I took him to the vet, still hoping for a good outcome. It was fecking cancer.  

I had some good friends that came over with wine in our last few weeks together. We sat in the living room talking and drinking. Bible would come in and out through his cat door.  He spent a lot of his last days outside on his favourite chair in my courtyard. He loved watching the butterflies and dragonflies. He didn’t go far, unlike his younger days when he was a runner. 

I loved that my friends understood how important my cat was to me. They knew it was a major ordeal for me and came and visited us. They let me cry without judgement or advice. 

We did a few vet trips where they drained him of the excess fluid that was building up. The first time he came home after being drained he seemed relieved and content. He looked more comfortable, and I was still hoping for miracles. But cancer is wicked. Of course, he swelled up again. It was no way to live. After the second time he was drained and we got home, he looked exhausted. I felt that he was suffering. I think he was even letting me pat him to help me feel better. 

I don’t think he wanted to go, but how do I know what he was thinking? Well, I never will, so I could only do my best. We had done 4 trips to the vet clinic so he deserved to be euthanised at home. I certainly was not in any frame of mind to drive him to the vet again with him mewing in his cat carrier having no idea what was happening. 

Many vets now are prepared to euthanise our loved ones at home and its not that expensive. First, they are given a needle to sedate them, then the vet waits a few minutes until they are visibly drugged and relaxed. Then they are given an overdose of anaesthetic. They don’t understand what is happening. He looked quite disgusted after the first needle, and then with the second needle, its time to say farewell. I wish that the vet had have told me that his head would fall, and his eyes would be wide open. Its natural and it would have been good to know beforehand. It was this or let him suffer, this was the best ‘option’. 

I still struggle with the memories of the day I put him down. I even feel like I killed him. Well, I did in a way, I organised the ‘hit’. I go over and over it. Sometimes I see sense. ‘He trusted me’ is the main rumination. I know I couldn’t let him keep suffering. But love never makes sense. Deep love for someone is purely emotional. It is gut wrenching when we lose our loved ones, human or animal. 

Every day, I work through my feelings of guilt and betrayal.  Then I see sense again. I accept that it’s okay not to be okay with what happened. I accept that dirty old cliché that ‘time heals old wounds’. I say ‘dirty’ because no one wants to hear tired cliches when they are hurting. But time is all I have now to get through this part of my life.  

Pet grief should never be dismissed.  If you have lost a pet be kind to yourself.  And if you know anyone that has lost a pet, reach out and let them know that you do care.