Going to buy ice with an empty body…the “real situation & feelings” on the day my beloved cat passed away

My beloved cat is an important member of my family. The sadness and sense of loss when I lost her cannot be fully expressed by the term "pet loss." However, that pain is something you only truly understand once you experience it. That is why the suffering of losing an animal family member is sometimes taken lightly.

In the hope that this reality might change, even just a little, I have written about the raw situation and my state of mind on the day I lost my beloved cat.

The illness period turned rapidly into the "end-of-life stage"

First, I must inform you. This article contains realistic descriptions of a cat's passing, so please read only as much as you feel you can handle without causing yourself emotional distress.

The death of an animal is actually a very sensitive subject. Before dramas or other media broadcast shocking imagery, there is usually a warning for the viewers. In the same way, I believe we need to be considerate of the potential for flashbacks for those who have lost an animal.

My beloved cat, Gigi, ended her 11-year life due to "hemangiosarcoma," a malignant tumor that forms in blood vessels. Please read about the discovery of her condition and the treatment process here.

On May 2, 2025, about four months after the surgery, it was discovered that she had pleural effusion. Her condition deteriorated at a rapid pace.

The last time her pleural effusion was drained was May 13. The veterinarian told me, "Keep an eye on her and come in on Friday or Saturday."

Until then, she would be relatively energetic after having the fluid drained, but that day, even after we got home, she had little energy or appetite, and I somehow sensed that "goodbye might be near."

The schedule leading up to her passing felt as if she was avoiding visits to the vet

I reported Gigi’s passing on X the day after it happened. Because she had many fans who had watched over her illness with warmth, I wanted to properly convey her final moments.

But in truth, there was a miracle-like event that I couldn't fit into the X post. It happened before she passed. It was as if Gigi had chosen the time and place of her own death.

Please bear with me for a moment while I share that miraculous sequence of events.

・May 13

The day of her third pleural effusion drainage. In the middle of the night, I suddenly felt pain in my back right tooth... I thought, "Now is not the time to be getting a cavity treated," but the pain was so bad that I couldn't sleep or eat. Reluctantly, I called my usual dentist the next day.

On this day, Gigi came out of her oxygen chamber, used her scratching post, and ate her food, spending the day quite normally.

・May 14

I contacted the dentist first thing in the morning. They said they could see me in the evening, but I already had a counseling session and a psychiatric appointment scheduled, so I went with the only open time slot: the evening of the day after next. (The following day was the dentist's day off.)

I taught my mother how to use the oxygen chamber, and she watched over and cared for Gigi while I was out.

・May 15

The day marked my 10th anniversary as a writer. I was happy that Gigi was by my side. I told her how grateful I was, saying things like, "Thank you for working hard together with me" and "I've made it this far because of you, Gigi."

I am sure Gigi tried her best to stay with me until this day.

On this day, although her breathing was a bit labored at times, Gigi wanted to come out of the oxygen chamber and tried to go to her favorite bedroom, so I thought I would take her to the vet on Saturday.

It felt as if my beloved cat had chosen the time and place of her own death

Then, May 16, the day she passed. From the morning, Gigi would not come out of the oxygen chamber. I wanted to take her to the vet, but I had an interview in the morning and a scheduled dentist appointment in the afternoon, making it impossible to visit the clinic.

I felt terrible that I couldn't take her to the vet because of my own schedule. "We will definitely go to the hospital tomorrow," I told Gigi as I headed to the dentist.

But something mysterious happened on the way. The toothache that had been so intense began to fade away. Even the examination and X-rays showed no abnormalities, and the pain never returned after that.

What could that have been? I wondered. When I got home and gave Gigi some "Churu" treats, she devoured them for the first time in a while, which reassured me that she still had an appetite. However, since she still wouldn't come out of the oxygen chamber, I asked her, "Are you in pain?" just as my husband arrived home.

After that, as I wrote on X, the moment my husband and I were both there, she came out of the oxygen chamber and headed for the door leading to our bedroom, as if her life depended on it. The moment she began to struggle there, I realized, "Ah, this is our goodbye."

I wanted her to pass away with as little suffering as possible. Thinking that, I picked up the struggling Gigi to put her back in the oxygen chamber, but—I assume because of her distress—she resisted with a strength I had never seen before.

For a split second, I thought about letting her spend her final moments in the bedroom she loved, but I knew that climbing the stairs in that condition would be dangerous for her, so I had no choice but to rely on the oxygen chamber. I still don't know if that was the right choice.

When facing the death of my beloved cat, I felt so powerless. While increasing the oxygen concentration, all I could do was call out to the struggling Gigi from outside the chamber, saying things like "I'm right here" and "You're not alone."

After she fell into a coma, I was able to hold her paw, but because she was a cat that had been treated poorly in a pet shop, the regret that her final moments were also inside a container remains with me.

While Gigi was suffering, besides thinking "I shouldn't touch her or I might cause her more panic," I also had a selfish reason: "I might get hurt myself." As days pass, I keenly feel the weight of that split-second choice.

However, I do think that Gigi’s wish to "spend her final moments with the three of us in this home" was fulfilled. The schedule leading up to her death felt as if it had been arranged by Gigi's own will.

If I hadn't had the dentist appointment and had taken her to the vet on Friday, there is a high possibility that she would have died in the car. Besides, the dentist appointment shifted our dinner time, making it easier for us to spend time together as a family of three.

Perhaps Gigi was rolling us around on her paws, trying to create the ending she desired.

Seeing her off through sobs, and the "preparations for the farewell" while I felt empty

The moment Gigi drew her last breath, I threw myself onto the floor and cried my eyes out while holding her paw. "Sobbing" must be exactly that kind of crying. I expressed all the gratitude and love I felt then, saying "Thank you" and "I love you," but honestly, I don't really remember what I said.

The scene before me was so shocking that the memories aren't vivid.

It was my husband's first time seeing an animal die as well. "I think it's just muscle contraction, but it feels like she's still moving," he said, touching Gigi repeatedly, appearing unable to accept that she had passed away for a while.

After crying my heart out, I told myself, "I have to do what needs to be done," and first contacted a pet funeral home. The staff member, while considerate of my crying, efficiently handled the cremation arrangements, but the prices mentioned didn't register at all, and I couldn't take notes.

After the call, I went to a pharmacy to buy ice to keep her body cool. I managed to drag my empty body home safely, but driving in that mental state is dangerous, so advance preparation is important.

Transferring Gigi to a cardboard box filled with ice was incredibly painful. Even though I knew she had passed away, I couldn't help but think, "It's so cruel to lay her down in such a cold place."

Still, when I managed to pick her up, I could feel with my own skin that her body was beginning to stiffen. "She's really gone..." tears welled up again.

After that, my husband and I went to see and touch Gigi many times, crying uncontrollably. Perhaps we should have sealed the box to keep the cold in, but we both felt, "If we close the lid, I feel like Gigi will suffer," so we couldn't seal it. We kept her in the coolest room until we entrusted her to the funeral home.

Days of crying while holding the urn and escaping reality through games

After the cremation, I couldn't bear to face reality, so I spent my days just playing games. Being home made me keenly feel Gigi's absence, which was painful, but I didn't have the energy to go outside.

The "reality of her absence" that greeted me the moment I woke up was painful, and it was sad that she wasn't in her favorite spot.

Honestly, I thought about following her, but I stopped because I felt Gigi wouldn't want that; in fact, I felt like she would be angry, saying, "Why did you follow me!"

It became my nightly routine to cry while holding her urn. Even if a conversation with my husband made me smile, I felt as if it were a bad thing to enjoy myself alone. Even though I knew Gigi wouldn't think that, I felt guilty.

Eating became just an act of refueling, down to one meal a day. The first monthly memorial is coming up soon, and I am still living the same way. The sense of loss, suffering, and sadness does not fade at all. It feels as if I have left my heart behind on that day and am just forcing my body to move.

However, as days pass, I have begun to understand "Gigi's absence" in my heart, just a little. Because of that, I am crushed by the "reality of her absence" in casual daily life, and I cry because I want to see her and touch her...

I am still in the phase of figuring out how to accept the reality that "I can never see her again."

The degree of pain felt when losing an animal family member varies from person to person, as does how one copes with death. However, I felt through the death of my cat that we should not simply dismiss it with the term "pet loss," and that "grief care," just like when losing a human family member, is necessary for those affected.

Unfortunately, such grief care is not yet common, which is why when you lose an animal family member, I believe it is important to create an environment where you don't carry the suffering of bereavement alone, such as by talking to a psychologist or speaking with others who share a similar sadness.

In fact, I protect my heart by talking about Gigi during the counseling I receive once a month.

On the other hand, pet loss is an agonizing experience that is hard for people without experience living with animals to understand. Sometimes, comfort offered with good intentions can have the opposite effect.

For example, words like "It's not like a human passed away..." or advice such as "Why don't you get another cat?" when the person hasn't asked for it can deeply hurt the bereaved. This is because, to that person, the one who passed away was a one-of-a-kind family member.

Through my experience, I hope that the suffering of those affected is conveyed, even if only a little, and that thoughts and perceptions toward the death of animals become more gentle. While it is natural that one cannot fully understand the feelings of those affected, I want a society where the pain of losing an animal family member is not downplayed.

List of articles by this author >>