James Deagle
2 min readFeb 23, 2020

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Thank you for sharing your experience, and for being unrepentant about grieving a true love. It made me think of Puss, the long-haired family cat that accompanied me from early childhood through to the end of high school. In December 1989, we had her euthanized on the vet’s recommendation as an act of mercy, as keeping her alive any further would only have been for our sake, and not hers. Her accumulating health issues had only been getting worse despite the medical treatments she’d been receiving.

I get flack from some quarters for admitting that I still think about her each and every day more than 30 years later, as if I’m being silly or childish for not having forgotten all about her as if she was merely some material possession. While I’ve “moved on” for the most part, I’ll never be ashamed to admit that there is an empty little space in my heart with Puss’ name on it, especially in the face of those who weren’t there to hear her mournful meows from the basement when faced with stairs she could no longer mount due to her arthritic paws. That same arthritis would cause her to unexpectedly flip over when she tried to jump down from the couch or even just step out of her litter box — with each passing day, she was being robbed of more and more of her dignity. Those who try to minimize my grief weren’t there to simply be with her, pet her, and talk to her lovingly when she’d wander off to a corner of the house and lay there with her head down, and with a look of dejection on her face that I will never forget as long as I live.

From one ‘cat person’ to another, never stop mourning Cubbie. Your connection with him was real, as is the loss you are feeling and may never stop feeling. If anyone can’t accept that fact, tell ’em to take a long walk off a short plank.

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James Deagle
James Deagle

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