One thing that I think people overlook quite a bit is the loss of a furry friend. These creatures, both big and/or small grab onto our hearts with their heartfelt silliness, weird antics, and sometimes gruchy demeaners. Most importantly and sadly, when we lose our pets, they're usually our first encounters with death.
I believe the rituals and reverence we're shown in our youth in these deaths helps us create how we view death for humans. Death is inevitable, hiding it from children and covering up the death with duplicate animal isn't hiding them from death.
Much like how we do a lot of things, we watch and learn from our parents and eventually teach our own children the same way we were taught. Growing up we lost a number of special animals, Chata (Boxer dog, struck by a car), Tashi (cat, died by old age), Tuti (Boxer dog, cancer), Eagle(horse, Cushings), there is quite a few more but these stand out. My mom made sure that we were apart of all of these deaths. For Chata and Tashi, we helped dig the hole they each were buried in. Both Chata and Tashi my mom had before we came along, and I don't think we truly felt the grief of their lives, only their absence from ours.
Eagle and Tuti happened within a year of each other. Due to their illnesses, their quality of life wasn't want we wanted for them. We were able to put each down at home, both were surrounded by love and us petting them when they took their last breath. Each was buried with their favorite blanket/toy and over the years the maple trees that we planted on top of their graves have flourished.
Growing up seeing this and working with death everyday drove me to give my little Plague so much love in his end.
I'm not sure I can type the full story of Plague's sudden demise without crying, but sparknotes - in the same morning at the emergency vet I found out that one of his kidneys wasn't working at all and that he'd probably been in pain for years. The progess was grim and the recommendedsurgery was not guaranteed that he'd have a healthy long life. I made the hard decision to put him down. I didn't have a place to bury him properly, I made the decision to cremate him. Before I let them take him, I asked to take him home. I needed time with him and I also wanted his brothers to grieve him instead of him leaving and never coming back.
I was a complete wreck after getting home, sobbing every time I had to tell someone what happened. While he was home I found his favorite toys to cremate with him and laid him on his spot next to the bed. Petting his slowly cooling body every time I passed by. His brothers each took turns laying by him and grooming his face. After 3 days, I returned his body to the vet for him to be taken for cremation. When he came back, he was in a little wood urn and the employees had taken nose and paw prints.
Plague's death threw me into shock and there were days that I just couldn't stand the quiet. Two months after he was gone, I finally sat down and wrote an obituary for him, because that's what we do with humans. Why not for a cat?
Plague was just a tiny thing when he saw his future Mommy come put her nose to the plexiglass. She couldn't resist she needed to hold this perfect black void of fluff. The moment he was in her arms he started purring so loudly and giving her face so many kisses. Within the hour they were on their way home.
He met his older brothers - Murph, who was always fun to play with and chase around and Satan, who was older and harder to convince to play, but that never stopped Plague from playing and exploring on his own. he was a natural climber, always finding his way to the top of the frig or into the kitchen cabinets. He loved going for car rides and following Mommy wherever she went. He was Mommy's baby. He would always run to greet her when she came home and would yell at her when she was gone too long. Thankfully, he always forgave her quickly so he could cuddle and curl up between her legs. He'd start purring like a motorboat to help ease her stress and anxiety. He worked hard to make biscuits everyday, often working himself into exhaustion.
His biggest vice was q-tips, he would pull them from the trash or the cabinet and leave them scattered around the house. He'd chew them up something fierce!
After being the best boy, Plague gave into the pain of his illness and left this life to go start his new one. His Mommy wishes and hopes to find his soul again, for he will always be Mommy's baby.
I'm not crying - you're crying.
How we provide rituals and care for the death of our animals helps us grieve their absence from our lives and create a legacy for them. There are so many ways to keep their memory alive aside from pictures and stories, sometimes they leave little surprises for us to find. Shortly after writing Plague's obituary, I was sweeping out a closet and found one of his q-tips. Laughing and crying, I picked up that filthy q-tip and put it next to his urn and collar. Whether they're here with us on earth or watching from another realm, they're always watching and wanting us to be happy.
To end happily, I do believe Plague found me again in the form of a tuxedo kitten that was born on the family farm. Bu (short for Bubonic) is so much like Plague that he looks at me strangely when I call him "Plague" instead of Bu. He's still very much Mommy's baby. 🖤