What happens when you say goodbye to a pet companion you love

And what you can do to honor their memory.

I have been fortunate enough to have only helped a small number of pet companions pass on to their next life. I remember my family dog passing at a young age and my pet birds passing in my hands, but the most impactful has been my foster hospice cat, who was euthanized in my living room after a hard battle with cancer and other complicated health issues.

When the vet left, all I could do was lay on the floor, curled around his little body, and sob; it felt like hours; it was, at most, twenty minutes. I just needed to be sad, heartbroken and relieved all at once.

Everything about Tuck, my fospice cat, was unusual. The way he had glowing yellow lantern eyes, the way he continued to lose weight despite having a voracious appetite, and the way he maintained his rugged personality despite his body literally crumbling away to GI lymphoma before my very eyes. It happened very quickly, and by the time he died, I couldn’t believe it was already over.

When I knew I wanted to create a memento to remember Tuck, it was months before I knew it would be time to euthanize him. I bought some air dry clay and took both his and my resident cat’s prints in them. I set them out to dry for a few weeks and promptly forgot about them. It was one of the best decisions I ever made and something I will continue to do for all future pet companions. tuck’s little pawprints lived on his memorial for months and have now moved to my personal altar along with his portrait.

In the days after his passing, I created a memorial in my kitchen, which had previously served as his emergency medication station. I crumpled up all the sheets used to track his medications and arranged them as a paper bouquet. I gathered up the expired prednisolone, steroids, and antibiotics and placed them in a ceramic bowl at the truck of the bouquet. I painted a picture of Tuck and left my favorite candle and his favorite treat at the memorial as well.

Giving Tuck’s memory a place to exist allowed me to keep breathing. I could see my sadness and grief in a physical way that didn’t allow him to disappear from my mind the way I was afraid it would. I slowly moved a few items from the altar, but the memory and the grief were still quite strong when I thought about dismantling it altogether.

I’ve never done this before, said goodbye to a pet companion truly on my own, and it had to have been one of the hardest parts of this year for me. Caring for a cat that would never be adopted because he had been neglected for so long was the greatest privilege of my life. Buying him toys, and blankets, arranging fluffy beds, and snuggling him during movies were all the gifts I could give him in the short year and a half he lived with me.

I sat down to write this almost ten months after his passing because I finally moved the altar from my kitchen table. I tried before, but it was too heavy, too sad. It felt right to tidy up that space now, but I might even move everything back on a day when I’m especially sad. I sat down to write this because I know there are other people saying goodbye to pets they loved and aren’t sure what or how to memorialize them. This is what I did, and it helped a lot. It helped me remember and be sad, and it helped others hold space for me and be sad with me.

I keep a little jewelry box with a tuft of Tuck’s hair and a few of his whiskers at the memorial as well. I keep it closed to prevent decay and because looking at the soft tabby fur always makes me cry. It is a comfort to know it is there and also that it is out of sight unless I want to see it. I am so glad I have it to remember him by. I take on deeply emotional connections to animals because I’m neurodivergent. It’s something I feel very deeply and sure about, and I love being able to share my home with these wiry little companions.

If you are saying goodbye to a pet you love, know my thoughts are with you.