The Quiet Grief of a Cat Named Atari
It has been two months since I last wrote, two months since I gave myself the space to breathe and reflect. Last June, I shared the news of our senior cat, Atari, passing away. It was a lot to process, and I found myself quietly grieving and healing, a process that takes time. To honor his memory, I decided to keep his Instagram account active, the one I created the day we adopted him in 2012. Posting his unposted photos and videos has become a source of comfort, a way to make the healing process a little easier.
I still find myself wondering if he's okay, and I'm still trying to understand why I didn't feel his presence after he passed. I've always been a believer in supernatural phenomena, and I truly believe something special happened on the day he left us. The air smelled of fresh flowers, an experience that's hard to explain but that I'm certain was his way of saying goodbye and thanking us. It had been years since I cried over the loss of a pet, but letting go of Atari was different. We had him for 13 years, and he was more than just a pet to my twin and me; he was family. Every family member, old and new, knew him. He was with us through all of life's moments, both good and bad. It's been two months now, and I find comfort in hoping he's in a better place, a place where he can be with my mom. I still wish for the day I'll see them both together in my dreams.
A Sudden Goodbye to Our Dog, Yumi
Just as we were beginning to heal, another heartbreak struck in July. Our senior dog, Yumi, passed away on the 9th. She had just celebrated her 14th birthday in April, a month that she shared with my twin, myself, and one of our other cats, Katsu. I had even baked her a birthday cake, not knowing it would be her last.
Yumi's passing was sudden and unexpected. She seemed so healthy for a 14-year-old dog, especially compared to Atari, who had frequent vet visits in his senior years. She was a small dog but so strong, a little bully to our bigger dog. Looking back, my siblings and I couldn't help but blame ourselves for not paying closer attention to the signs of her body weakening. We overlooked that she was a year older than Atari, believing her strength meant she was perfectly fine. At the end of June, I started to notice her heavy breathing. She was rushed to the vet on July 1st and confined for almost two days. Her blood work came back with terrible news. The doctor said she was anemic and had infections, and other tests pointed to a possible heart ailment and failing kidneys. My siblings and I remained hopeful for a miracle, but things took a turn for the worse. In the early hours of July 9th, Yumi passed away. She didn't even get to finish her medication.
It was a devastating blow, especially with Atari's passing only a month before. We had no choice but to accept that she couldn't fight anymore. We had her cremated, just like Atari, and it was incredibly difficult to say goodbye to a family member. I miss her deeply, just as I miss Atari. I have placed their urns together on our dirty kitchen cupboard, creating a resting place where we can still see them.
Watch my vlog here ⬇️
The Unconditional Love of Family
In the end, our pets are truly family. Even in their passing, we must honor their lives with a decent memorial. Losing both of our senior pets has created a significant hole in our hearts, but knowing they are no longer in pain brings us a measure of peace. We may have considered them our pets, but to them, we were their entire world. They don't live as long as we do, and because of that, it's our responsibility to give them the best life possible.
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