My Beloved, my best boy.

Death always takes your breath away when it visits someone you love, whether you have time to prepare for it or not.

On February 16th, 2023, we lost Tucker the cat to a condition called saddle thrombus. One moment he was totally fine and normal, and the next he was yowling in pain and unable to use his back legs. I knew in my body immediately that this was it for him. I could just feel it. No. Not him.

My partner and I dropped everything and rushed down the highway to the emergency vet 12 minutes away, and less than ten minutes into the visit, the vet gave us the news. He’s had a blood clot travel from his heart to his legs. There was no pulse in them, and they were cold. They’d given him pain medication to help him, but without that, he would be in great pain and would continue to be. There were some experimental treatments we could try at the U of M, but they were incredibly costly, painful for the animal, and even if effective would not be able to stop the extremely high percentage of re-occurrence.

I had my eyes closed while the vet relayed the news to me, to us. I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t look at anything at all. I informed her that I was going to need a little bit of time, and then promptly dissolved into absolute wailing the second the door closed. There are some things you don’t want to be right about. I didn’t want to be right about this.

Every time I see my phone reflecting light across the room, I wish Tucker would chaotically run down the hall to chase it.

When I look at my messy desk, I wish Tucker would try to find a way to fit his gigantic body onto it so he could be ever closer to me while I work. I wish I’d never been frustrated at him about this even once.

When I walk into the bathroom, I wish I would see Tucker speed running ahead of me in an effort to ensure he wouldn’t be accidentally separated and on the other side of the door from me.

I set up a spot on on my altar for him. Food and water to support him on his journey. The panther spirit to walk alongside him. My favorite photo of him. His paw print. A whisker of his I found in Freddy’s room.

Tucker was one of the most pure-hearted beings I have ever had the pleasure of being in relationship with. He was a shy kitten, constantly hiding in the crack between the fridge and the wall, but always coming out at the first indication that he would receive tenderness. We were tightly bonded. He wanted to be by my side at all times and was always ready for a big cuddle. When I had COVID for the first time a month or so ago, he didn’t leave my side until my fevers subsided. His purrs sounded like the coo of a pigeon.

The day he died was also my partner and I’s 7 year anniversary. We completed a Saturn cycle. Astrologically, this is a point in a relationship where people either make it or break it. (You’ve heard of the ‘7 year itch,’ yes?) (a stupid ass term, but does have astrological correlation.)

On top of that, my son’s biological father was staying at our home, visiting Freddy for the first time since last summer. It was a very difficult visit. He was not in a mental space to had even come at all, and yet he was there.

So there was a lot going on in the emotional-spiritual realm, yeah? Felt like some kind of a cosmic intersection.

The combination of holding the challenge of the visit and the grief of the loss of our Tuck has opened some seriously deep levels of intimacy, connection, and trust between my partner and I. Other parts of life that had been previously frozen in detrimental states are improving rapidly. My dear friend Kelsey posited the idea that Tucker left to join my spirit team, where his ability to help and care for me could be limitless; not bound by the confines of physical existence. I do feel like there is some truth to that, and I feel like he and I have been on each others’ teams for a number of lifetimes now. I do so wish that he didn’t have to go. He was only 9. I still sense him everywhere.

He went out cuddled in between Corey and I, exactly how he so loved to be. I sang him “You Are My Sunshine” and couldn’t finish the song, because life was indeed taking my sunshine away. Though I knew they would take it off of him after I left, I used the blanket to wrap him in a burial shroud. We hugged and kissed him between us one last time, and I asked him to please find me again next time.

I miss him. It hurts. He was my love. He was such a good friend.