Pets are an important part of many peoples lives. People who own pets tend to be healthier, happier, less lonely. I know from experience that being a pet owner brings with it a sense of companionship that little else can come close to, and when a pet passes away, it’s almost like losing a member of the family.

Recently, we had to put my cat down. Usually, when I say this, it elicits some reaction of sympathy, which of course I appreciate, but I know that it was better this way. She had been feeling down and not eating for several days, and the veterinary clinic that took her blood work never explained the (extremely dire) results to us; by the time we took her to the emergency vet two days later, we found out that she was severely diabetic and had gone into organ failure.

Even if they had saved her, that damage would have been irreparable. Diabetes isn’t exactly a sudden onset disorder; she had more than likely been suffering longer than we knew. She isn’t suffering anymore.

Since I am away at college, I never got to say a proper goodbye. Even though she was a cat and couldn’t understand any English besides her name and the word ‘dinner’, I hope that somewhere in cat heaven she can look down and understand this letter and how meaningful her life was to me.

My dearest Chai,

I remember the day we got you. Back then I spent a lot of my time at the barn, hanging out with a different kind of four-legged friend. That’s where I was when Mom found you; she had gone to the shelter because our first cat had passed away from old age and we were finally ready for a new kitten (or two).

She arrived at the shelter just as you did, dropped off by a soldier who was shipping out in a week and couldn’t take care of you. You were striking, Siamese coloring and none of the attitude. Mom immediately called me and said I had to come see; we loved you immediately and brought you home that same day.

You had spent less than half a day in the shelter. They didn’t even have time to do more than administer a de-fleeing treatment; we spent the next few days picking dead fleas from your cream-colored fur.

Back then, you were the color of milky tea, so Chai was a very appropriate name. You even loved water, which made our defleeing journey much easier. We soon did our research and discovered that your distinct color was due to being a specific breed called a Snowshoe (a cross between an American Shorthair and a Siamese) and that you were a rarity. That wasn’t why we treasured you, though.

We treasured you because of your sweet nature, the fact that you never put your claws out at a single one of us. In eight years, I maybe heard you hiss once when another cat came into the garden. You were so patient with your sister (who we brought home a few days after you) when she hogged blankets, laps, and attention.

We treasured you for your snuggly, motorboat purr, easily elicited by chin and ear scratches as well as the cheapest of toys. You were never much of a lap cat, but you never protested snuggles. Nothing made you happier than a paper bag or a cardboard box--we could buy any number of cat toys that cost actual money, and still, you would prefer to be carried around the house in a paper bag.

We treasured you for your inquisitiveness. There was never a situation in the house where you didn’t want to know what was going on, and even on a normal night, you had to sit in a position where you could see and hear each and every member of the family. Just last month, at Thanksgiving, all you wanted was to be a part of the party.

While that may not have been possible, you were and always will be a part of the family. You were my best friend when times were roughest, and when all I wanted to do was stay in bed, you were always there, curled up on the end, as warm and loving as ever. Every night you would sleep on the upstairs landing, watching over all of us, no matter how many times we tripped over you.

You were precious. You were valued. You were loved. I am happy that you aren’t feeling pain anymore because you never deserved it. Thank you for eight years of happiness, purrs, and love.

Goodbye, and I hope to see you again.

--Your loving human, server of dinner, and scratcher of chin,

Meera