When It's Time to Say Goodbye
And what about the kitties we leave behind?
Over the past 25-plus years of kitty sitting, I've had the pleasure of caring for hundreds of wonderful cats. Some I've known since they were tiny kittens, and others I've met well into their senior years. I've watched them grow, develop their funny little habits, form friendships (and sometimes rivalries!), and become such important members of their families.
And, of course, I've had to say goodbye to many of them. It's never easy.
When a client shares that their beloved kitty is nearing the end of life, I'm always careful about offering advice. It's such a personal and emotional time. Every situation is different, and I believe the people who share their lives with these animals know them in ways that no one else possibly can. Mostly, I listen. I offer support, a little reassurance when I can, and a whole lot of love.
But having been through this with my own cats, I've found myself thinking about a few things that I wanted to share.
Knowing When It's Time
Anyone who has loved a cat for many years knows how much they communicate without ever saying a word. We know when they're hungry, when they're annoyed, when they want to be left alone, and when they're looking for a little extra love. We know their favorite sleeping spots, their routines, and those subtle changes that tell us something isn't quite right.
When my sweet Marty developed a large tumor in his abdomen, I knew we were approaching the end of our time together. He wasn't eating well, and I could see in his eyes that he was no longer comfortable. I could have pursued additional tests and procedures, but I had to ask myself what we would really gain from putting him through all of that.
I chose to focus on keeping him comfortable, helping him eat, and enjoying whatever time we had left. There are certainly times when further testing and treatment can make a difference. But there are also times when we have to consider whether we're doing something for our animals or asking them to endure something for us.
It's a difficult distinction, and one that deserves thoughtful conversations with our veterinarians.
A Peaceful Goodbye
I've had some truly beautiful experiences saying goodbye to my cats at home, and two in particular will always stay with me.
My sweet Juliette had a growing tumor and a heart murmur. We knew that if the tumor ruptured, it would be time to say goodbye. When that day came, I sent my husband and young son out of the house. Juliette had been my husband's cat for many years, and I wanted to spare them the experience of watching her pass.
Juliette loved two things in particular: tuna and being brushed, especially with her favorite Zoom Groom! So that's exactly what we did. I opened a big can of tuna and let her enjoy herself. Then I settled in beside her and began brushing her, just the way she liked. Meanwhile, our veterinarian quietly came up the stairs. With tremendous care and consideration, the vet gave Juliette her first injection while she was completely relaxed, enjoying her brushing. She never even knew anyone was there. She simply drifted off to sleep.
No fear, no unfamiliar faces, no disruption to her happy little world. Just another day in paradise, with tuna, her favorite Zoom Groom, and someone who loved her. I will always remember that as the gold standard of compassionate end of life care.
And then there was my beautiful Bouie. She was 22 years old and had always been an exceptionally clean cat. Pristine, really. Never an accident, never a mess. She had a favorite heated bed where she loved to curl up and rest.
One day, I found her lying in that bed, weak, having urinated where she slept. That was simply not Bouie. Anyone who has lived with an animal for that many years understands how significant a change like that can be. It wasn't just that she was getting older. Something was very different, and I knew it. We made the decision that day.
When the veterinarian arrived, Bouie was resting in her favorite heated bed, and that's exactly where she stayed. She received her sleepy injection while lying comfortably in her bed, surrounded by the warmth and familiarity she loved. And she passed peacefully, right there. No unnecessary moving or handling, no disruption. Just a gentle goodbye in her own little world. It was beautiful.
These are the experiences I hold close when I think about what compassionate end of life care can look like. Both veterinarians understood that the most important thing was to preserve the comfort and dignity of the animal in front of them. They worked around my cats, rather than asking my cats to accommodate them.
Unfortunately, my experience with Marty was very different. When it was time to say goodbye to my sweet Marty, I had arranged for a veterinarian to come to our home. He had a large tumor in his abdomen, wasn't eating well, and I could see that he was no longer comfortable. We had already made the decision, and the veterinarian knew why they were coming.
Marty was resting when they arrived. Rather than allowing him to remain settled, the veterinarian began examining his abdomen, feeling the tumor, without explaining why this was necessary. The unfamiliar people, smells, and handling frightened him. By the time he received his first injection, he was already distressed. He jumped off the bed while partially sedated, and his final moments were anything but peaceful. My baby died scared, and that has stayed with me.
I share these experiences because I think they show how much the little things matter. Having a veterinarian come to your home is wonderful, but it's just as important that they are gentle, patient, and understand your cat. Juliette had her tuna and her Zoom Groom. Bouie had her warm bed. Both were able to stay comfortable and relaxed. I wish Marty had been given that same care.
I don't expect every goodbye to be perfect. But I do believe that kindness, patience, and respect for an animal's comfort should always come first. And that's something worth talking about before the day comes.
And What About Their Kitty Companions They Leave Behind?
This is something I've wondered about for years. When two cats have shared a home for 10, 15, or even 20 years, what happens when one of them is suddenly gone? Do they understand? Do they miss their companion? Should they be allowed to see or smell the kitty who has passed?
When Marty died, Houdini was home. I gave him the opportunity to be nearby, but he wanted no part of it. And that was fine with me. When Juliette passed at home, Bouie wasn't present either. I've often wondered whether that mattered.
Interestingly, there has been some research into how cats respond to the loss of another animal in their household. A study published in 2024 found that some surviving cats showed changes in eating, sleeping, playing, and seeking attention after a companion died. Of course, we can't know exactly what a cat is feeling. And researchers acknowledge that our own grief may influence how we interpret their behavior.
As for whether a surviving cat should see or smell their companion after death, there really isn't enough scientific evidence to say that it's necessary or that it helps them understand. Some veterinarians suggest allowing the opportunity if the surviving animal seems interested, without forcing an interaction. That seems like a gentle approach to me.
After all, anyone who has spent time around cats knows they have very definite opinions about what they do and don't want to participate in!
Life for the Kitty Left Behind
I've cared for many pairs of cats over the years, and it's fascinating to see the relationships they develop. Some are inseparable. They sleep curled up together, groom one another, and seem to do everything as a team. Others share a home for years while maintaining a very polite distance! And some have relationships that fall somewhere in between.
When one cat passes, the remaining cat may suddenly find that familiar routines have changed. A favorite sleeping companion is missing. The other food bowl is gone. There's no one waiting in the usual sunny spot.
Some cats become more affectionate. Others seem quieter or spend time searching familiar places. And some appear to carry on much as before. We don't always know what these changes mean, but I think it's important to pay attention.
Keeping familiar routines, offering a little extra affection when it's welcome, and allowing our cats to adjust at their own pace can be helpful. Of course, changes in appetite or signs of illness should always be discussed with a veterinarian.
A Little Love and Understanding
Over the years, I've come to appreciate just how individual our cats are. There are no two alike, and I don't believe there's one perfect way to navigate the end of their lives.
Some families find tremendous comfort in having their kitty pass peacefully at home. Others feel more comfortable with a veterinarian they've known and trusted for years. Some want their other pets nearby. Others prefer to keep things quiet and separate.
These are deeply personal choices. I would never want someone to feel that they made the wrong decision because they chose one setting over another, or because their surviving cat wasn't present.
What I do believe is that our animals deserve kindness, dignity, and as much comfort as we can give them. And that the people who love them deserve the same kindness and understanding.
After all these years, I still find saying goodbye to one of my kitty friends incredibly difficult. They become part of my life, too, and I carry memories of so many of them with me.
For those of you who have had to say goodbye to a beloved companion, my heart is with you. And for the kitties left behind, perhaps a little extra patience, a familiar routine, and a warm place to curl up are a good place to start.
With love to all our wonderful kitty friends, past and present.