On A Personal Note...Grief

February 25, 2026. The day I've been dreading for years. The day my soul cat, Kister, transitioned to the other side.

Let's start at the beginning. When my husband (then boyfriend) and I lived in Chicago for grad school, just kids in our early 20s, we decided to adopt a second cat. We went to the Anti-Cruelty Society in downtown Chicago and found Kister. We instantly bonded. Kister was spunky, silly, fearless, confident, and loving. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. He journeyed with us from Chicago, to Florida apartment living, to our current Jacksonville home. He raised multiple cats and dogs over the years. He watched over the ones who transitioned. Kister became the Elder of the house. And always, always my best friend for 18 years.

In June 2021, we received news that Kister had kidney disease. The prognosis at that time was about a year. But a year came and went, and Kister continued living life vibrantly. My husband and I often said he was living on borrowed time. There were a few times I thought it was the end, but he always bounced back. Until he didn't.

We noticed a gradual weight loss over the last few months, but his heart and organs were strong. Until the vessel holding his beautiful soul started to break down. Enter this past Friday. Kister wasn't feeling well. We started him on several different meds and fluids. He perked up a bit, but then declined again. After much consideration and consultation with our wonderful vet, we decided a peaceful transition was the compassionate option.

The day before he died, he did a final walk outside and sat with me on our deck. That night, we gave him a "chicken party" (he and all the pets got to eat roasted chicken!) and had whipped cream for dessert. We slept on the floor with him, and he knew we were there. He even came up to cuddle our dog in the middle of the night. He let us know it was time. He was saying goodbye. He was ready.

We gave him a peaceful death. A good death. The kind that I am so grateful for. Our vet came to our house, and we did it outside. He passed away licking whipped cream. (They say cats don't have sweet receptors on their tongues, but that didn't apply to Kister- that boy loved sweets). The best way to leave this world. Afterwards, we sat in the sunshine and listened to the breeze. We took him to the cremation place ourselves. We reflected on the immense gratitude we have for being together for 18 years. With him making it to almost 20 years old. What a lifetime. What a privilege. And it's so hard without him here. The pain takes my breath away. And the memories help soften the grief. Grief is not linear and hits in waves. And these waves are deep. And I know with time, they get less intense.

What happens when we die? That's the great mystery of life. We will all find out at some point when it's our time to leave this realm. Lately, I've been reflecting on the cycle of birth, life, death, and rebirth. I believe that death is not the end; it's the beginning. We get to leave our vessel that houses our soul and expand into pure consciousness, into pure Source, into pure Love. I feel Kister in the breeze, I see him in the cardinals that visit during hard moments, I feel him in the butterflies that visit, I see him in the Stars and the Sunshine. This is not a goodbye; this is a see you later. And- it's so, so hard when we want our furbaby here with us, in the form we knew them.

I feel immense grief right now, and my face hurts from all the tears. Anyone reading this who has grieved a pet knows this feeling. But I get up, I give myself compassion, and I stick to my routine the best I can. I make space for my grief. I breathe into the edges and let myself feel it. I talk about him, I connect to the gratitude, I look at photos, and remember the love. So, so much love.

See you later, Kister. You will be a great Ancestor.