We Lost Some of Our Sparkle

Saying goodbye to Holly. A love story.

Holly. She was sparkling in this photo only eight months ago. Authors photo

It had been about two weeks since she left when my wife somberly said, “It feels like our house lost some of its sparkle.”

On June 10th at 9:13 am, my wife, Linda, was at work. I texted her to call me. When she called, I told her, “I think it’s time. You should come home.”

We spent the last hour at home, comforting her and loathing the fact that these were the last moments we would all have together.

They said we could bring her in at 11:30.

The Vet was kind, caring, and gentle. As tears rolled down our cheeks, we planted little kisses on her head and told her how much we loved her. A few moments later, our pretty little girl went off to heaven. While weeping, Linda said, “Her heart wasn’t ready to go.”

Cats have long held deep spiritual meaning in many cultures. They are commonly seen as protectors of the unseen, sources of energetic healing, and symbols of intuition.

All of our cats were adopted from feral cat communities.

We adopted Holly into our home eighteen years and five months ago, a fluffy-tailed, adorable kitten, as a companion for our other cat, Buddy. Her name was no accident; we chose it as a cute homage to Buddy Holly.

She was a very vocal kitten and would often respond to your questions with a quick chirp or chatter. I swear she was trying to talk.

She fell in love with Buddy at first sight.

Buddy was a little indifferent to her. Having been the “Cat of the House” for the last nine years, he half heartedly welcomed her in.

She had all the energy of a kitten, and he had all the chill of a middle-aged alpha male. I think he enjoyed her company, but definitely from a distance.

She regarded him as her best toy ever. Frequently running up to him, wanting to play and wrestle. He would play if he was in the mood.

She had one bad habit:

When Buddy least expected it, she would run up from behind him and smack him in the nuts. Naturally, this wasn’t his idea of fun, which earned her a well-deserved hiss and a quick smack or two. This likely contributed to some of his aloofness around her. They were still pals nonetheless, and she loved him anyway.

Linda would let them out on the patio under strict supervision, because Holly would tend to wander off and try to get under the shed where two opossums lived.

It was always the same: the door would open, Holly would pop out first, eager to scout the area, and Buddy would follow at a leisurely pace. They would play a little, then come back in reverse order, Buddy first, Holly right behind.

Holly, top left, and her love Buddy, one of his last outside romps. Authors photo

A few years went by, and Buddy developed a non-operative congestive heart issue. When the time came, he could barely walk and had great difficulty breathing. Holly knew something was wrong. She would try to get close to him whenever he would let her.

Things feel different now.

The day after Buddy left us, we opened the door to let Holly out to play on the patio. She hesitated, then, after some gentle encouragement, went outside. She paused at the bottom of the steps, glancing back at the door for a moment, clearly expecting to see her love following right behind. But he never did. Her heart was broken.

Personally, this was one of the saddest moments I had ever witnessed. I am teary-eyed just writing about it now. We tend to think only about how loss affects our loved ones and us, but never consider how it affects the pets that we share our lives with.

They understand the loss. They feel it too.

Buddy and Holly. Authors photo

After a while, we all adjusted, and Life went on.

She knew she was a pretty girl. She would strut across the room, showing off her fluffy, feather-like tail. Often, she would give you a series of quick meows as if trying to say, “Get me my toy” or “look at me.”

Cats are very selective and usually bond with one person as their primary human. For both of these guys, Linda was the primary.

Holly was always close to my wife; that was her human. Now, with Buddy gone, she became Linda's personal shadow, sidekick, and work partner. She would follow Linda everywhere and, for many years, would only let my wife interact with her, hiding away when we had people over. Running from me if I went to pet her.

It’s only been in the last six years or so that she started to come out of her shell and let other people see and pet her. Somewhere along the line, she remembered she was the new Alpha and decided not to be afraid of others.

Whenever she wanted your attention, she would gently reach up and tap you on the hip a few times until you figured out what she wanted.

When Linda began working from home, Holly would “clock in” and lie on the bench next to her desk. Many times, she would jump up on the desk and walk across the keyboard, accidentally sending emails that said something like: “csytrdy80djwbgnqlehr183fty2llxiqnsby" to unsuspecting colleagues.

Holly is at work. Authors photo

She would also make appearances on company Zoom calls to the delight of the other participants, who would ooh and ahh at the sight of her. She would stay in that office from the start of the workday till the end.

She was independent, a recluse, and an attention seeker all at once.

Wherever Linda went, she followed. Never the clown, and always the supermodel. Strutting around, that fluffy tail raised high, and posing as if waiting for her next close-up.

A Holly collage. Authors photos

A few months after Buddy died, it was time to find her another companion.

Enter Jesse.

It was love at first sight again, but not for her. She was now in the alpha position. She was the boss. But this new little guy didn’t care; he immediately fell in love with her.

Holly meeting the new boy toy? Authors photo

Jesse’s adoration for her was obvious. He would watch over her, and she over him. He would follow her, eat when she ate, and live to be by her side. Though he imprinted on me as his human, Holly was always his true love.

Jesse and Holly. You can almost see the cartoon heart bubbles above his head. Author's photo.

They would occasionally play together, but on her terms.

Almost like Karma for her Buddy, ball smacking past, Jesse became the master of the sneak attack. He would ambush her by running at full speed, then jumping over her like a horse over a hurdle, sometimes grabbing her to wrestle.

Not amused, she would hiss and swat at him. Then it was over and back to cat business as usual. What goes around comes around, old girl.

Bird session interrupted. Author's photo.

They became pals and together would look out at the birds and squirrels from the windowsill…

Author’s photo.

…Stare out the back door at the neighborhood strays. Holly would get so excited about the strays that I started calling them her “gentlemen callers.”

On rare occasions, they would cuddle up on the couch.

A rare cuddle session. Author's photo.

At bedtime, it was a “who will get to sleep next to mommy” festival. They would force themselves around my wife, causing her to pretzel twist her body to accommodate the two of them.

Life was good.

Happy times. Authors photo

Things were just fine. Holly continued to shadow Linda, tap you for attention, and wow visitors when she made “guest” appearances. Jessie continued his gorilla ambush tactics and loved his girl.

Suddenly, Holly developed an insatiable appetite.

This was diagnosed as a hyperactive thyroid, which was brought under control with medication, and kept us on watch for her health.

A few years later, she contracted Feline Lymphoma, which attacks the gastrointestinal tract, and Renal Lymphoma, which affects the kidneys, causing increased thirst and a multitude of symptoms. All of which pointed to her having both. The average lifespan of a house cat is 13–17 years. At sixteen and a half years old, chemotherapy was not a survivable option.

More medication and visits to the veterinarian. The multiple symptoms gradually worsen her condition.

All along, her personality never faltered. For a year and a half, we thought every week might be the last, but she kept on going. Still the supermodel and chatterbox, still her momma's best friend, and still the apple of Jesse’s eye.

When we went on vacation, we set up nine spy cameras in strategic locations to watch her and make sure she was okay. Over time, we added a litter box on every floor and multiple places for her to rest.

During her last week, she stayed in the office under my desk, very thirsty, very weak, and barely able to walk. Still wanting to be a part of our lives.

The night before she passed, Jesse, who always sleeps upstairs with us, slept on the floor in front of her. The spy camera gave us this surprise view of them.

Jesse, comforting his girl. Author's photo.

It’s been about a month now. We all took it hard and deeply miss our little girl. Jesse lost his appetite for several weeks and started cuddling up with me every chance he could, looking up at me with a quiet sadness.

A week later., Jesse on my lap, needing hugs and comfort. Authors photo

He’s almost back to normal now. Cats have a way of adapting to new circumstances. We keep him busy.

Losing a pet is like losing a family member. We have a small tribute to her in our living room featuring her paw prints from the Vet, cards, a candle from a friend, and a photo of Holly in a white frame that reads:

You were my favorite hello, and my hardest goodbye.

Take care of your pets. They feel more than you know and love more than you can ever imagine. You never know when you will have to say goodbye.

[embed]Don’t know what she wanted, but she made it very clear.

Thanks for sharing your time with us. — SV