A Year Without My Cat: Living With Grief Long Term

A year ago today, I lost my best friend and the most amazing cat I’ve ever met, Zoloft. He was the reason I started my cat behavior work and was a very special companion. He got me through the pandemic, comforted me during challenging times, and was a constant presence in my day to day life. While I was expecting his loss to be challenging, it ended up being more difficult than I had expected. My life was shattered and it was hard to function.

As one of many attempts to grieve the loss of my cat, I wrote a series of monthly blogs on grief-related topics to share my… no, to share our story so it can help others. This is the last post in that series. While I will talk about grief and pet loss again on my blog, this post is the last one I plan to do specifically about the loss of Zoloft.

I am dedicating this final blog to the topic of long term grieving as I far from expect this to be the last day I think about him or miss him.

A Note On Prolonged Grief

To be clear, this blog post is not about prolonged grief disorder. That is a pathological form of grief that creates dysfunction and can be life ruining or even life threatening. It also specifically only includes people in the diagnostic criteria which is problematic, but off topic. If you are unable to function or are having thoughts about hurting yourself, I encourage you to contact local crisis resources and get in touch with a mental health professional so you can begin to heal.

Rather, this post is about what long term pet loss grief looks like moving forward after you get through the first year. Your grief isn’t going to end, but that doesn’t mean it will look the same.

The First Year After A Cat’s Death

The last year has been filled with the full spectrum of emotions. I cried daily for 7 weeks after Zoloft died and felt incredibly low. I survived holidays and his first Gotcha Day without him. I figured out what the new normal of my life would be. I felt grateful and reflected on memories of both special and ordinary times. I made a giant scrapbook filled with photos of our time together. I even welcomed two very special successors into my heart and home.

The whole time, I missed him so very, very much. I still do.

Time felt strange and everything had a hint of being off. I have a hard time remembering much from last fall because it was so foggy. Gradually, things got better. Of course, grief isn’t linear so I’d be pulled into darkness again. Even when there wasn’t a major event or milestone, I’d have days where I just felt so low.

The overall trend has been improvement. I can now live with the grief even if it’s always there somewhere. If you’re facing the loss of a special cat, don’t expect the process to be straightforward. Some days you’ll be totally at peace and then something will bring you back down for a while. It may not seem like it now, but you should see steady improvement.

Weird Milestones

One of the strangest parts of the first year has been all the firsts and lasts. I’m not even referring to the obvious firsts and lasts like holidays and cleaning out his litter box for the last time. There were a lot of expected firsts and lasts that really bothered me or were unexpectedly tough. A few examples:

• Paying Zoloft’s final vet bill
• The first time I referred to him in the past tense. He was, he liked, he did something before but can’t do it again because he’s not here…
• Changing Zoloft’s name in various things to Poutine and ‘Zac
• The first major event I was a vendor at and it hitting me on the drive home that he wasn’t there waiting for me
• Just a few days ago when my phone and social media shared “one year ago today” memories that included him for the last time

That last one is what has hit me the hardest. It made it real that it has been a full year since the last time he and I existed in the same world. It’s been a year since he was here to knock things over, play with toys, or even just sit on my lap. It’s very strange.

Don’t be surprised by the unusual things and the little things that are surprisingly hard to cope with. It doesn’t matter if others get why they’re hard. Much like the cat you are grieving, your grief is going to be unique.

Grief After The First Year

Now that a full trip around the sun has occurred since the last time I saw Zoloft, things are going to be different and my grief will not look exactly the same as it did a year ago today. Part of grief is finding joy in the memories of your cat and how much your cat loved you. I fully plan to incorporate joyful memories of Zoloft into my life. While this isn’t usually thought of as being a component of grief, it is an essential part of the grieving process.

Grief is both the good and the bad. It’s the pain, but it’s also the love.

Continuing Traditions

August 28th, September 10th, and March 27th are always going to be important days because they are associated with Zoloft’s death, his birth, and the day he came into my life respectively. I plan to honor him in some way each of these days moving forward. It may not be as elaborate as the celebration of life I held last year on his birthday, but I’m going to do something for him. After all, the connection continues even after he’s gone.

Tough Anniversaries

On the anniversary of his passing every year, I’ll likely do something more somber. I found a great series of grief poetry books by Sara Rian. Her words really struck me because it felt like someone, on some level, finally gets my grief. Maybe I’ll read some of her words and page through my scrapbook of Zoloft’s life with me. Maybe I’ll write him a letter. Maybe I’ll do something special to help other cats. I’ll know what is the right thing to do when I figure it out.

This year, I did some things to celebrate him and distract myself. The sun happened to shine in as it set as I was sitting by the window looking at photos of him. I had him sitting nearby on top of a tall cat scratcher and it looked really beautiful. I decided to grab a toy I made for him and take some photos. They weren’t the same as the photos I took while he was here, but it brought me comfort that the sun still shines on him.

Celebrating Special Holidays

And then there are holidays. I plan to keep Zoloft’s stocking out each year and my current dudes will be getting a Churu in his honor for each of the major holidays. I have so many wonderful holiday memories of Zoloft and so many special keepsakes. There’s no reason to keep them hidden away because I don’t want to keep him hidden. They may be painful at times, but at other times they’ll remind me of all the happiness he brought me. Both of these are part of grief. Why miss out on the happiness to avoid something I’ll feel anyway?

Talk About Your Cat

I continue to talk about Zoloft almost daily. I spoke about catnip at a conference a few weeks ago and included him I continue to share my feelings and how much I miss him. At first, a lot of people supported me. As time has gone on, people have been less more distant. The topic gets changed or people just ignore anything I say about Zoloft. It has gotten lonelier and has made the loss more painful.

Still, I have a core group of folks in my life who get it. I have no intention of stopping talking about Zoloft. I want to talk about him. It doesn’t make me feel worse to talk about him. Not talking about him and not sharing his story is what makes me feel bad. I don’t care if people think it’s strange because I’m not doing it for them. It’s for me because it makes me feel better to talk about him. It’s also for him because he’s not some awful, shameful secret. He was an amazing cat who deserves to be celebrated.

I hope you continue to talk about your cat, too. Even if it has been decades, continue to talk about them. The people who really support you will be there to listen.

A Life Long Journey

No matter how much time has passed, I don’t anticipate ever being “over” Zoloft’s death. That’s completely okay with me.

Sure, I can acknowledge that it happened, I have adjusted to a different life, and I have managed to come to a place of more equilibrium compared to this day last year. I don’t cry every single day. I’m back to being able to function somewhat. The memories of our time together are more pleasant and I feel more gratitude for the time that we had the life consuming sadness I experienced at first. It still hurts thinking about him not being around, but it’s not taking over my life.

Does that mean that there isn’t still going to be a sting when I look at the pictures of him holding onto my arm, sleeping in his cat carrier, or watching the snow fall outside? No, that isn’t going away because I’ll always miss those moments. It’s not always painful and I’m able to experience happiness from my memories of our time together. I’m sure at some point 30 years from now I’ll pull out my scrapbook, perhaps on this day or on another important day to Zoloft and I, and between the smiles tears will flow.

That’s part of the reality of grief: it simmers, but never fully goes away.

A Bond That Lasts Forever

As challenging as the last year was and as challenging as grief may be in the future, I got so many wonderful days and so much joy from Zoloft. I gave him a fantastic life and we have a special bond that, while it has changed, will still endure. I was so very lucky to have gotten to be his human. It was so worth it. He was, and still is, so worth it.

I will continue to miss him, but mostly, I will continue to love him for the rest of time.