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“Until you love animals, a part of your soul remains unawakened.” ~ Anatole France
When my cat Squiggles passed away, I didn’t just “lose a pet.” I lost part of my identity, my greatest source of comfort, and my sense of home.
Squiggles has been the one constant in my life over the last 20 years, through every milestone I’ve grown, through every heartbreak, through every version of myself. I’ve had her since the moment she was born, and for almost 22 years, Squiggles has been my constant companion, my emotional support, and my soul kitten.
But no matter how much I prepared, nothing could soften the shock of having to say goodbye and live without her.
As a therapist, I tried to apply all the coping mechanisms I had learned over the years. But the person inside me wanted to reject all of that. I was so deeply saddened.
So I turned inward. And for the past two years, I have been learning how to live with the loss of my soul kitten. Don’t get over it. Or try to forget. But accept it and live with it.
Here are five things that helped me cope with life without her.
1. I acknowledged the pain of my grief.
I knew the loss of Squiggles would be devastating someday, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier. It helped validate how deeply it hurt.
I didn’t try to hide how sad I was. I cried every day for weeks. I canceled my appointment. I moved slowly. And instead of being ashamed of how bad I felt, I dealt with the pain.
Many people in the world may think that she is just a pet, but to me she was everything.
A term used to describe this type of mourning is disenfranchised grief. It is when your grief, like any human loss, is not recognized by society. But that doesn’t mean the grief isn’t real. That means others may not understand how big of an impact a loss can have.
My bond with Squiggles was deeper than most human relationships. I’ve heard countless people say that the death of a pet is more painful than the death of a relative. I believe them. I felt it.
So I told myself every day, this was one of the most important relationships of my life. I am allowed to be so heartbroken.
2. I tried to find balance.
As a therapist, I am familiar with the idea that “the only solution is to pass.” But when you’re in the midst of overwhelming sadness, feeling your emotions can quickly become drowning in them.
So I did it in small quantities. I admired her. I cried. I talked to her. I allowed myself to remember.
And I also gave myself permission to take a break from my grief whenever I could.
For the first few weeks, I couldn’t imagine feeling anything but sadness. But slowly, I began to allow myself to step away from the pain. I had a night out with my friends. I practiced the guitar. I did some gardening. It made me laugh without feeling guilty.
And here’s the truth about taking breaks: That doesn’t mean moving on. That means you’re doing your best to survive.
Joy and sadness can live side by side. One does not cancel out the other.
3. I stopped saying “I should.”
Grief does not follow logic. Or a timeline. Or “should.”
Yet they still showed up:
“You should feel better by now.”
“You should get rid of her stuff.”
“I have to thank her for being here for so long.”
At some point, I realized that those “oughts” were self-judgments in a mask. So I started replacing “should” with “can” or “want.” Sometimes I asked, “Who said that?”
Who said you had to move on quickly?
Who said I would be stuck if I kept a box of her stuff?
Who said I was “too sad”?
Grief is a unique experience for everyone. No one knows how long the severe pain will last. In my case, it’s been about 2 years. My grief is less severe, but there are days when it still hits me in waves.
Now, two years later, I cherish that moment of sadness. Because that brings me back to Squiggles.
4. I connected with other people who understood.
One of the hardest things about losing a pet is how isolated they feel. That person who knows you inside and out is no longer there. I feel incredibly alone.
Friends always didn’t know what to say. People who had never had a deep bond with a pet couldn’t understand why I was so devastated.
Telling people helped, but only if they really understood. People who had experienced the loss of their own souls and pets were the ones I felt most comfortable with. And it was helpful.
Eventually, I started an online community for pet lovers to come together after losing a pet. A soft landing spot where you don’t have to explain why you’re still crying six months later or why it hurts more than you expected. People just get it.
This community is a big part of my healing. And I continue to witness the power of connection every time someone shares their story, the name of a pet, or simply their pain.
5. I used creativity and art to express my feelings.
Initially, the only way to stay connected to Squiggles was to work through the grief. But over time, that love began to move within me in different ways.
I started gardening. Being in nature and witnessing seeds blossom into flowers reminded me of the cycle of life and the interconnectedness of all beings.
When I really missed Squiggles and didn’t know what to do with myself, I expressed my feelings through poetry. Or draw every detail: her little face, the pattern on her fur, the way her legs are tucked under her body. I looked through old photos and let my emotions take over.
These small creative acts did not solve my grief. But they gave it somewhere to go. They gave me a way to continue to love her and helped me bring new forms of beauty into my life even when she wasn’t around.
If you have lost your soulmate pet, know that you have all the time in the world to grieve. Pets are part of our family and a big part of who we are. The sadness you experience is simply a new manifestation of the love you have for them.
