This post is for you, if you just lost your cat. Or if you lost them a year ago and the grief still catches you off guard. Or if you’re dreading the day you might.
People will tell you it was “just a cat.” They mean well. They have no idea.
A cat is the creature who knew your routine before you did. The weight that appeared on your chest when you were sad before you even realised you were sad. The presence at the end of the bed that made an empty flat feel like a home. The one being in the world who never needed anything from you except to exist near them.
“Just a cat” doesn’t begin to cover it.
What grief for a cat actually feels like
It feels like a house that is too quiet. Catching yourself listening for sounds that won’t come. Going to fill a water bowl that is no longer there. The specific cruelty of a Sunday afternoon that used to mean lap-time, now meaning nothing in particular.
It feels like guilt, even when you did everything right. It feels like wondering if they knew how loved they were. They did. Cats always know.
What you are allowed to do
- You are allowed to cry as much as you need to. There is no timer on grief.
- You are allowed to keep their things out for as long as feels right.
- You are allowed to talk about them constantly, to anyone who will listen.
- You are allowed to be not okay for a while.
- You are allowed to find moments of joy again, without it meaning you have forgotten.
You are also allowed to come here. This community was partly built for exactly this — for the grief that people outside this space don’t quite understand. You don’t have to explain why it hurts so much. We already know.
If you’re going through this, our Grief & Memory space in the community is open. You don’t have to say anything. You can just be there, with people who understand. 🕯️
Meow Moment 