26/09/2026
"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened."
~ Anatole France ~
This quote regularly springs to mind when I contemplate the space that pets fill in our hearts.
The natural progression from this realisation is to consider how we manage grief when faced with the death of a beloved pet.
When a pet dies, the pain and the sadness can be overwhelming.
Suddenly a life that filled a place in our home, and our hearts, is gone.
Just like that.
After we tidy away the bowls, the beds, the lead, after we handle the practical consequences, cancel pet insurance, grooming appointments, and vaccination reminders, the emptiness amplifies.
Sometimes we imagine we hear the little sounds that had become an intrinsic part of our lives and home; the contented purrs in a quiet room, the excited yips before a walk or when we came home, the click-clack of claws on the floor, the sound of water being lapped from a bowl, the jangling of tags on a collar...
We sometimes continue to feel the physical presence of a pet despite being painfully aware of their absence; we may imagine we sense a comforting weight beside us on the sofa or at our feet in bed, we look behind us to avoid tripping over a wee furry shadow that used to follow us everywhere, we instinctively check if the food and water bowls are empty or need cleaned, we turn around to say goodbye as we leave the house, and look to the window for the face that used to wait and watch expectantly for us coming home.
These are the moments and experiences that prevail after the huge emotional turmoil of the immediate grief.
These are the moments that some people find difficult to talk about as time passes. Or feel that others wouldn't understand, so we remain silent.
But they are important and deserve recognition.
They're little reminders of how a pet becomes part of the fabric of our life, our home, our family, and our journey. They are an acknowledgement of the strength of the emotional bonds we wove, and the love that prevailed.
We lost our lovely ginger boy Finn recently.
Finn was diabetic, had heart disease, and needed various painkillers as he got older.
He was five days short of his 17th birthday when we had to say goodbye.
Every morning we still expect to hear his chirrup that became an insistent bossy miaow as he demanded his breakfast. Sometimes, I believe that I can hear him...
Other times, I imagine I feel him jump onto the bed and snuggle in behind my knees.
We still consciously look at the clock to decide if it's time for his insulin injections, and have to stop ourselves from asking the familiar question of "has Finn had his insulin?"
Every time I hold a pouch of Licki-Lix in my hand, I remember how we mixed his medication in it, and how he would reach up with extended paws to ask for his twice daily treat - loudly!
I miss his purr; ranging from contentedly gentle to enthusiastic motorbike engine.
I miss his snoring that we could hear from the next room.
I miss the constant wee tufts of ginger and white hair that I would absentmindedly pick up from his favourite resting places.
There are many more little moments and memories that catch me off guard as I adjust to life without him.
I try to embrace these moments and tricks of the mind.
I remember how lucky we were to have shared our lives with such a wonderful cat (and his sister Ruadh, who some may remember we lost relatively recently too).
Like all the pets who came before, we reflect on the colour and vibrance their presence brought to the tapestry of our lives. Their existence is forever intertwined with ours.
The memories, and the photos, videos, and stories serve to remind us of everything they offered us unconditionally. They remind us that our souls were awakened by their presence.
A gift to be grateful for indeed.
If you feel able, perhaps you could share some of your favourite memories of a beloved pet.
It is important to have an opportunity to share our grief, but it is equally important to share the special times, and to remember the contribution they made to our lives.
Tricia.
