I don't want the day to come when I can't touch them... How to deal with the "fear of saying goodbye" before pet loss

On May 16, 2025, my beloved cat Jiji ended his 11-year life due to angiosarcoma, a malignant tumor that develops in blood vessels. Before I embarked on the journey of battling his illness alongside him, I thought the pain of pet loss would only hit me after he was gone.

But the reality was different. The heartache of pet loss begins during the battle itself. The weight of the reality that "I am going to lose this child" struck me like a thunderbolt.

While that sadness and pain may never disappear, how we spend our time during their illness can alleviate the fear of parting and help us prepare for a life without our beloved cat, even if just a little.

This time, I'd like to share how I personally came to terms with the reality of "parting with my beloved cat" during his illness.

"It's natural to be afraid of parting" was the starting point of acceptance.

Honestly, when the veterinarian first told me, "There's nothing more we can do," I spent my days crying. I wanted to avoid crying in front of Jiji as much as possible, so as not to worry him. I wanted his last memory of my face to be a "smile that conveyed my love," not a "crying face."

Although I thought that, whenever I imagined a future without Jiji, I couldn't help but cry.

However, as I spent time with Jiji, crying, a thought suddenly crossed my mind. It's natural to be afraid of parting. It would be unnatural not to feel "sad" about losing a family member I've lived with for 11 years. This sadness and pain are only natural.

After that realization, I stopped trying to force a smile and allowed myself to cry when I needed to. Instead of trying to control my emotions, I decided to let them flow naturally and spend the precious remaining time with Jiji.

Incidentally, when I cried in front of Jiji, I would explain the reason for my tears, saying, "Jiji, I'm sorry. I just can't help but cry. Imagining life without you makes me so lonely." I thought if he understood why I was crying, he would be less confused.

As I spent time with Jiji, expressing my true emotions, my fear of "the day of parting" eased a little, and my thoughts turned to "what can I do now?" I started looking for things I "could do" or "wanted to do" for him.

Cherishing our time together through memories and expressions of love

What could I do to make him feel like he had a good cat life until the very end? The first thing that came to mind was to let him eat his favorite foods.

At that time, the veterinarian had told me to "let him eat whatever he can." So, I gave him more of his favorite Churu than usual and wet food that he always enjoyed.

As I satisfied his appetite, I began to feel a desire to "satisfy his heart even more." However, Jiji wasn't very interested in toys. When I wondered, "What else does he like?" I remembered how his affectionate behavior intensified when he was alone with me.

Okay. Then, until the day we part, let's spend as much time as possible just the two of us in a room where our other cats aren't present. With that thought, I started spending all my time with Jiji, except for sleeping, eating, and bathing.

(※During meals and bathing, he would relax in an oxygen chamber, and sometimes I would put him in the oxygen chamber if I saw he needed it.)

Because he had fluid buildup in his chest, Jiji clearly struggled when he purred. Yet, in the bedroom, he purred until the day before he passed away. His brave and loving way of showing his "happiness" even in his struggle was both touching and adorable.

In the bedroom, my husband and I also held a "strawberry party" for the three of us. I was touched by my husband's kindness, who bought Jiji's favorite strawberries after work, thinking of him. Jiji could only eat one or two bites of strawberry by then, but I was glad he could still enjoy a bite.

That day, eating strawberries in the bedroom while laughing, I genuinely wished time would stop.

When we were alone, I told him many things I had always thought but hadn't conveyed. You were cute for 11 years. Thank you for being born. I've loved you for 11 years. I still love you. If you're reborn, let's live together again! I'll be waiting for you always.

I told him these words every day, and on days when tears overflowed, I'd say to him, partly to reassure myself, "It's okay. Even if we're apart and I can't see you, we'll always be together. I'll always be by your side, so there's nothing to be afraid of. You don't have to worry about anything."

Whenever I said those things, Jiji would always gaze at me with strong, unwavering eyes. Every time I saw those eyes, I felt that even if we didn't speak the same language, our hearts and feelings were connected.

The weight of "you don't have to try so hard" struck me through a friend's words.

During his illness, when I was struggling mentally, I confided in my husband and friends who had experienced pet loss.

Having someone listen to you is incredibly important when facing the sadness and pain of losing a pet. I realized that putting my emotions into words eased my heart a little and allowed me to approach the situation from a different perspective.

What particularly resonated with me were the words of a friend who had lost her beloved cat. After losing her cat, she felt there was no meaning to life and almost stabbed herself with a knife. Losing a small family member truly brings such immense pain.

My friend prefaced her remarks with, "This is just my opinion, but..." and offered advice on what to say to a sick cat.

Friend: "In my case, I decided not to just say 'keep trying,' but also not to say 'you don't have to try so hard.' If my cat was trying so hard to live, I felt it would be disrespectful to tell him 'you don't have to try so hard...'"

So, my friend made sure not to say anything negative or use past-tense phrases like "thank you for everything." Instead, she focused entirely on conveying love, using positive words like "you'll get better soon" and "you can rest assured, I'll always be with you."

Of course, there's no right or wrong way to interact or speak with your pet during their illness. However, my friend's words deeply resonated with me.

At that time, I had been telling Jiji, "You don't have to try so hard anymore," hoping it would bring some peace to his heart. But after my friend's words, I changed what I said to Jiji.

"It's okay whether you try hard or not. Do whatever you want. Whatever you feel or decide, I will respect your choice."

After I started saying that, Jiji began to look at me with even more direct eyes.

Incidentally, my friend regretted that her own emotional pain prevented her from being there to witness her cat's last breath, and she also told me, "If you can, prepare yourself now to be there for his last moments. I don't want you to regret it like I did."

Thanks to her words, I was able to witness Jiji's last breath with my own eyes, and I am deeply grateful for that.

Honestly, it wasn't a peaceful end, but being able to call his name and cry out "Thank you" and "I'll always be with you" as I witnessed his passing was a profoundly meaningful experience in my life.

It's incredibly painful during an illness when you realize that your beloved pet's condition worsens day by day, and the time of parting is drawing near. However, for a sick pet, "today" is the strongest day they have. That's why it's so important to clearly express love and gratitude, and to make sure that the limited days you have together are as good as possible for both of you.

When considering how to spend that finite time, knowing that it won't be long, I believe Jiji would be happy if my experience could be of some help to others.

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