A Good Death

My beloved cat, Pumpkin recently passed away after a short illness. She was always an aloof lady who preferred her own company, but when she became ill, Pumpkin began clinging to me and it wasn’t long before I had to carry her everywhere. We are both fiercely independent creatures, so it took me by surprise just how close we became towards the end. It happened very quickly; she went from being a shiny gorgeous active night hunter to dying in a heartbeat. Within a fortnight of noticing that she had slowed down, she had become so frail that our other cat kept frequently knocking her over, and as she became weaker, his mischief only got worse. Poor Sammy, our other cat is a rescue kitten, only six months old and full of life. He longed to play with her, but she never was the type to play around - even before she became unwell.

In the end, Poor Pumpkin never left my side, even sleeping in my bed, and the day she died, we both woke up and knew the time was close. They say cats go off to die alone, but Pumpkin wanted to be near me. I cancelled all my appointments that day, wrapped her in her favourite blanket and even sang her songs.

Well, that’s kind of a lie, as I was too choked up to get through an entire song.

Anyway, I was with her when she passed and held her for the next few hours. Her bestie, my dog Tinkerbell, also stayed by her side. I think it was a ‘good’ death, but I sensed she didn’t want to leave me, and strange as it may sound, I still feel her around me. When I talk about it to ‘animal lovers’ they are really sensitive and caring about it; her death was very painful and the whole family miss her everyday. I’m writing this to express and release some emotion and reach out to anyone else who has lost a beloved pet. I am thinking of opening a cat rescue one day, but meanwhile I am going to dedicate my next book to Pumpkin, and her brother Clover. Sadly, Clover was ran over and killed last October, on the busy road, one block from our home. We never got to say, ‘farewell’ to him as we received a call from a local vet advising us he was ‘best remembered how he was before the accident’, and I took that to mean that he was a mess. He was cremated by the vet and they sent us a lovely card describing the rainbow bridge where animals go when they die.

With Pumpkin, the children decided they didn’t want her to be cremated, so we made a burial in the garden with crystals, incense, giant sunflowers and white chrysanthemums. The conversation with my daughters about whether we cremate or bury Pumpkin opened up a broader conversation about our own funerals; knowing that my daughters dislike the idea of cremation has changed my mind on being buried. I even looked up plots for sale (but didn’t buy one just yet).

Pumpkin’s special gift to us was to enable us to have a conversation about life and death, and all the rituals which bring those two opposites together. We must all try to find comfort in letting go of the beloved beings we treasure and love in rituals which feel right for us and those we leave behind. There is never a good time to have these conversations, but you can make them positive and healing. These conversations are not linear; they will repeat in all our minds for time to come. They will not be forgotten, and I think the whole family felt ‘ok’ about Pumpkin’s ‘good’ death and ‘loving’ burial ritual. If I can die as ‘well’ as my darling cat, than I will be happy too.

Farewell Pumpkin, until we meet again my lovely 🐈‍⬛ ♥️