“What greater gift than the love of a cat.” – Charles Dickens
“How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” – Winnie the Pooh
“This sucks. This really fucking sucks.” – Jeremiah Graves
I’ve repeated that third phrase over and over again and probably will for quite some time. Yesterday, we said goodbye to our thriving teenage daughter, Ms. Honey Boosephine Mlady-Graves.
We adopted Honey months before her eighth birthday after she had, rather inexplicably, spent significant time bouncing from shelter to shelter. How anyone passed on her perfect little face is beyond me. The first time I saw her photo and read her bio, I knew she was going to be our cat.
We’ll never know what was written in the chapters of her life story in the years before she first landed in a shelter. We’ll never know what she was like as a kitten, although we have plenty of guesses. We’ll never know what event(s) led to her being available for us when we decided it was finally time to get a cat and add to our family.
What we do know is that we were blessed with 10.5 years of unconditional love from just the best damn cat. What we do know is that we gave her the best home we could. What we do know is that we showered her with all of the love, affection, treats, forehead kisses, chin scritches, and nicknames that a pair of humans possibly could. What we do know is that she got to spend the second half of her life with zero fear of ever landing in a shelter or feeling unwanted or unloved again.
She was the perfect fit for our family in every possible way. Her personality meshed with both of us instantly. She had two very different, very unique relationships with each of us and somehow knew exactly what both of us wanted and needed from a cat.
We thought we were going to lose her years ago when she was diagnosed with both kidney and liver diseases and given an estimate of “six months, maybe a year” from the vet. When things started to look bad around the six-month mark, another vet was more aggressive with their treatment game plan and hooked us up with Denamarin (a wonder drug if ever there was one) and I can say, unequivocally it added years to her life. Over time she got older, she got thinner, she got slower, she got creakier, but she was still 100% Honey.
In May, we had an “incident” where her legs went from “old cat gimpy” to “not functioning” in the span of just a few hours. We had back-to-back long, late nights at the emergency vet worrying that we were about to say goodbye to our fuzz beast. The first time they assured us, “tonight’s not that night” and sent us home with some drugs and a diagnosis of ‘advanced arthritis’ (and floating knee caps … WTF?). The next night they assured us, “tonight’s not that night” and sent us home with a diagnosis of ‘whoops – we overdosed your cat and she’s actually just high out of her fuckin’ mind, that’s our bad.’
Since those harrowing back-to-back nights in May we’ve both been preparing to say goodbye. Our regular vet – the incomparable Dr. Colleen McCarthy at Pet Haven – has been wonderful in guiding us through the process. She prescribed Honey with pain meds that allowed our gal to mostly come back to normal – or as close as an 18-year-old with multiple chronic conditions can get – over the last three months.
The first time after “the incident” that Honey jumped back into bed with me in the morning for her pill and breakfast treats, after I thought it was never going to happen again, I burst out crying tears of joy. Honey, naturally, moved to the edge of the bed away from the giant blubbering weirdo; but she was there rekindling our morning routine. The last time she did that was just before I left town for the Ragnar relay. It still filled my heart with absolute joy. I didn’t know it was the last time, but I guess you never do.
I know we made the right choice. It was the right time and the right thing to do for her in her condition. It just doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. My heart is completely broken right now and grappling with the realization that a very important and wonderful chapter of my life just ended is proving more than I can handle at the moment.
It’s only been one day, but her absence looms large.
Leaving the house with a 10-pound creature you love with every fiber of your being and coming back home with an empty cat carrier is a shitty feeling. Just the absolute fuckin’ worst.
When we got back from the vet yesterday, we were both restless. Grace went for pancakes and I went for a run. Solid choices on both accounts if we’re being honest. Coming home after my run to a truly empty apartment for the first time in more than a decade; realizing it was the only time that I had ever been completely alone in this apartment — it broke me immediately.
Looking around at the toys, the tower, the scratching pads, the tent, the steps, the treats, the food dish, the beer boxes (which were always preferred paws-down to the fancy, semi-expensive cat bed) — all of those things belong to Honey. They’re still here, but she’s gone. It broke me.
I went to shower after my run and instinctively left the door open a crack, so Honey could slip in if she needed to use the litter box while I was in there. Then I remembered. It broke me again.
All day/night, I kept hearing Honey’s feet shuffling along our floors, her thumping down from the couch or a side-table, one of her barely-audible meows in demand of a treat (or 18) … and yet, none of those sounds are real. They’re all in my head. It broke me, every goddamned time.
Every time I roll my chair back, I pause and check to make sure she’s not laying behind me – as she often did – so that I don’t run over her perfect little paws or her tail. Then I remember and it breaks me all over again.
When Grace got up this morning and left for work, I did what I always do and I automatically smoothed out her side of the bed in my mostly-unconscious state so it’d be prepared for Honey’s arrival. Then it clicked and I woke up crying. It broke me.
I suspect this is going to be a very common occurrence for me and Grace in the days and weeks ahead. It will get easier as time passes. It will get easier as we slowly put away her toys, donate her food/treats, regain our couch when we take down her tent and our floor space when we move her tower and various boxes into the attic. It will get easier as the raw and immediate feeling of loss subsides with time and space.
…but right now. Holy shit. This hurts. This hurts really, really bad.
As Kacey Musgraves so eloquently put it, “healing doesn’t happen in a straight-line” and if I learned anything from grieving (and continuing to grieve) over the loss of my brother, I’m going to be a mess for a while and in a lot of weird, unexpected ways at weird, unexpected times. Prepare yourselves accordingly.
I miss our cat’s perfect little face. I miss the sound of her meow. I miss the hum, vibration, and shared comfort of her purring. I miss her chomp-chomp face when she’s eating. I miss her cute motorboat snores when she’s totally passed out. I miss being bullied for treats. I miss her simple, calming presence. I miss our baby girl.
What I don’t miss is watching her over the final days where she’d stopped eating, was barely sleeping, and simply wasn’t herself and that’s what I keep coming back to every time I’m overcome with pain and sadness. It was time and it was the right thing to do.
Honey knew it was time too and — even if this is entirely crazy cat bro projection — signaled it over her last few days. The last two mornings, she’d returned to a favorite spot near the window in our bedroom. She hadn’t made the climb to that spot in many months. It’s in this spot that she would sleep at nights and sit in the mornings; alternating between watching the birds flutter by outside and the two of us dozing in and out of sleep as we hit snooze. Yesterday morning, she sat in that spot and repeated this tradition while we steeled ourselves for what we know was going to be an incredibly hard day.
Once we were both up and at ’em she stood up from her corner spot, took one long last look out the window, let out one of her patented little “Honey sighs” that she was notorious for, looked me in the eye, meowed at me, and then sauntered down from her perch and into the living room where she walked directly into her cat carrier. It was time.
While I’ll never forget any of the bonus time we’ve received with this gal, my fondest memories of Honey have nothing to do with those final few days or weeks or months. They are etched forever in the many years of routines and traditions and quiet comforts we celebrated together as a family.
When I’d come home at the end of the day and she’d be waiting at the top of the stairs for two headbutts and a kiss on the forehead. In her younger days, it’d be a race between the two of us. I’d open the first door downstairs and as soon as she heard it, she’d barrel across the apartment and down the stairs to our door and spill out onto the landing as soon as I opened the apartment door. By her early teens, we’d settled into the top of the stairs situation that was easier on all of us.
When Grace would attempt to open tuna and Honey would appear, as if by magic, immediately behind her demanding her cut of the stash. Over the years, Mlady devised many methods to be stealthy about her tuna consumption including a switch to bagged tuna, retreating to the bathroom with the door closed to open the cans, and opening the can next to running water to mask the sound. Not a damn one of these was ever successful.
When she’d get her crazy eyes on and just barrel around the apartment and drag herself along the couch or her cat tower like an absolute lunatic.
When she’d spend hours staring at the skylights in the fall because each and every leaf that dared land on them was definitely taunting her and needed to be dealt with in a decisive manner.
When she’d be sitting in one of her (many) beer boxes that were scattered around the apartment, just casually lounging, and I’d pick her up and buzz her around the apartment so she could see everything from a different angle. We called it “AirBoo” and it was a decidedly better in-flight experience than Spirit Airlines, cheaper too. She’d get to see the top of the fridge, sniff all the spices on the spice rack over the stove, stare directly out the skylights instead of staring up at them from the floor, peek over the tops of doors that she usually crept around, investigate the contents of every closet and cabinet, stare at herself in the mirror as we flew by, and — without fail — receive a billion smooches on her little forehead from both Grace and I as she zipped around the apartment before her beer box made a safe, smooth landing back where it had started.
When I’d attempt to take photos of her looking super cute and no matter what, she always had resting “just got asked to drive you to the airport at 4am face” instead.
When she tried to murder every piece of semi-fancy electronics that I ever owned. Ear buds, FitBit, Garmin, etc. Just chomping on those sumbitches like they owed her money.
When she’d maul me in the mornings after Mlady had left the bed, initially for food and – since the pandemic started – for treats and her pill (because Mlady was home and not at CrossFit, so she took care of the food while I slept in).
When we’d convene on the Catio in the not-too-hot, but not-too-cool days of late summer/early fall for her to peek out on the neighborhood and tip-toe precariously along the window ledge by the giant screens, but mostly her time on the Catio was focused on sprawling naps, bathing, and forcing me to switch folding chairs with her whenever she wanted a different vantage point.
When I’d prepare her wet food at meal time and she’d patiently wait to lick the spoon clean before her meal was officially-served. She was a wonderful dishwasher.
When December would roll around and we could bust into the Trader Joe’s advent calendar. It was a more recent tradition, but one that all three of us absolutely loved. So much so that we bought an extra calendar last year to keep the fun going well into January.
When she’d sit on her box and watch me play video games until she fell asleep, waking up every time I went to get a new beer or use the restroom to demand some treats, before falling back into a coma-like state once again growing bored of my mediocre video game exploits.
When we’d play hide and seek and chase each other around the apartment, she was always a much better detective than me and able to sniff me out no matter where I’d setup camp, perhaps she was the true Jake Peralta after all.
When she’d slip into bed with us in the winter and sleep on top of Grace’s head, using her noggin’ as a personal space heater while she (Honey, not Grace) snored away.
When we’d leave and always had to leave out a decoy suitcase for her as a peace offering while we were away or else she’d just climb in our suitcases while we attempted to pack. We also had a standing rule that post-travel, at least one suitcase should stay out for lounging purposes for at least a week.
When she’d watch CatTV and prove over and over again that she was definitely born to be an indoor cat and not prepared for life on the outside.
When every box that came into the home had a mandatory “Honey squatting period” before it could be opened and eventually recycled. This actually led to multiple boxes becoming permanent exhibitions in the gallery of cat perches that was our apartment. My Favorite might be the big box my mom sent us after Christmas during Honey’s MEGA-CHONK phase in 2015. We also kept our Christmas tree box out until July one year when she refused to give it up as a premium napping spot.
When we’d bust out the Halloween “BOO” lights we bought just for our Honey Boo and get her to pose with them. Her response was always an odd clash between “WTF are my cringey parents making me do now” and “you’re goddamned right this makes me look good – post these ASAP!”
When she’d join me in my little makeshift office and pass out for hours on end. No need for attention, she just wanted to be where I was and hang out. If I got up to leave, even for a fresh cup of coffee or to grab another beer, it always required me giving her a heads up that I’d be right back so she wouldn’t follow me out of the room.
When we got to spend last two pandemic Christmases with our gal and shower her with gifts and attention during a time where we’d historically been halfway across the country and she was left largely to her lonesome.
When we got to celebrate her three pandemic birthdays – sweet 16 right up through her owly 18th back in April – with cake and presents as a family. It seemed like a miracle when she made it to her 15th birthday, so each of her pandemic birthdays was a true celebration of her life, her fighting spirit, and just how lucky we were to still be together as a family – especially given everything going on in the world at the time.
When the pandemic gave us so much time at home. No lengthy commutes to and from work. No long hours in the office. Just waking up with our baby girl and spending all day together. She was the perfect officemate, Zoom bomber, and — especially for Grace — daily reminder to step away from the computer for breaks (and treats).
When she was just there. She loved nothing more than being around her people. A permanent presence that radiated love.
I could keep going and going, but it’s clearly just me listing every memory that comes to mind and – by golly – this is already way too long and draining.
There’s no good way to wrap up what is clearly just an overly-emotional ramble about the life of a cat, so let me simply distill it down the basics, before I mosey off to cry some more.
. . .
Honey was the best cat. We loved her. She loved us. We are going to miss her forever.
This sucks. This really fucking sucks.
Honey Boosephine Mlady-Graves (April 9, 2004 – August 23, 2022)
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My Faithful Readers, it’s time for the annual tradition (we’re in year eight now, so this is TOTES a legit tradition), the unveiling of my yearly reading list!!
Blank Stares and Blank Pages 
