Tag Archives: loss

In 2009 I was living in the Upper West Side neighborhood of New York City while serving a congregation there. My then-partner and I had some fish as pets. In my childhood, I was allergic to cats, and although not super allergic, it was of enough concern that we never had cats in our home. However, cats have always been my favorite pets. One day, I walked to the pet store to get some food and other supplies for my pet fish and discovered that the pet shop was having an adoption event for rescued cats. That single visit to the pet shop changed my life in ways I am just now understanding.

I knew that my ex-partner liked cats too. When I saw the little kittens at the pet shop, I couldn’t just ignore them. I approached the kittens and they all jumped to greet me… except for one little, shy kitty that stayed behind. After playing with the kittens a little bit, I approached the solitary kitty on the corner. She looked at me and extended her paw and it was love at first sight. I knew that was going to be my kitty!

Lo and behold, although I was concerned about my childhood allergy, my interactions with the kittens didn’t make me feel as if I was grasping for air. In fact, the reaction was quite mild, especially in comparison to what I experienced as a kid. So, I decided to inquire about the adoption process and within a couple of weeks, I had adopted my very first pet cat.

Her given name was “Suzette”, but I couldn’t quite see her with that name. I decided to give her a more Latina name… after all, they told me they had rescued her from the streets of The Bronx! What Bronx cat is called “Suzette”? I also didn’t want to go too far off from the name she was probably starting to understand (she was between 9-10 months when I adopted her.) I remembered a comedy character from a TV show back home, called “Susa.” Puerto Rican comedian Carmen Nydia Velázquez impersonated the character of Jesusa Cruz Avilés, and Susa, for short. Her character was funny, and I thought that my little kitty deserved a Latina name that had some sort of connection to who I am. So, I decided to do what any other Latino parent would do, give her a proper, Latina name. Since I was a parish pastor at the time, it made sense to give her a proper, Christian name also. And thus Jesusa María de los Ángeles Madej-Santiago, Susa, for short. (Madej is my ex-partner’s last name, and since we adopted Susa together, it was appropriate to give her his name.)

In New York City, I lived in an apartment with a very long hall. Susa would run and slide on that hall and have the time of her life. She never once destroyed any of the Christmas trees I had, but she loved munching on the many plants around any of the places I’ve lived. She wasn’t the most social of kitties, but she loved sitting on my lap whenever I picked up a book and started reading.

Susa was with me at some of the most important or difficult times in my life. She was there to support me when my ex and I separated. I drove with her from New York City to Seattle when I first moved to Washington. She was there with me on the road again as I moved to Madison, Wisconsin, and then back to Tacoma, Washington. Susa was the first living being that met my now husband. She was there when we got married. Susa was also with me when I was diagnosed with cancer.

Some folks say that animals, and especially cats, can’t be too intelligent. I’ve even heard people say that cats are not intelligent at all. But I beg to differ. When I was diagnosed with cancer, and whenever depression was taking over me, Susa would feel it. She would come and cuddle with me, even though she wasn’t social. She sensed my pain, and she would extend her paw as if to caress and comfort me. She also hated when I traveled. I remember once when I went on a short trip. When I opened to door of the apartment, Susa was there, sitting as if waiting for me to come home. Once I entered and greeted her, she looked at me, put her nose up, and walked away not to see her again in two whole days! I knew she had not run away because her food bowl would be empty every morning. I also remember the one time she refused to eat her dry food because it was not the right shape. Yup, she stayed without food for two days until I went back to the store and got her the shape she liked, even though the food I had fed her was the exact same brand.

When my husband and I bought our home in Tacoma, it was the first time Susa had a backyard and plenty of room to play. On sunny days – whether it was cold or warm – she would beg for us to open the door to the backyard. Our home has a little pet door that goes to the backyard, but Susa never wanted to learn how to use it, no matter how much I tried to teach her. But, she would beg to be let out… and then, if it was cold, wanted to be let in once again five minutes later. On sunny and warm days, though, she would sit under the sun and sunbathe for hours. She would play hunt – never actually hunting anything – and entertain herself in the backyard.

Grieving the loss of my beloved pet companion has been an extremely difficult thing. Although I had seen how she was deteriorating, and I knew that her time in this world was coming to a close, I was not prepared for the pain that is losing a pet companion. Since I had the make the extremely difficult decision to end her life, I have not stopped crying, feeling guilty about the things I could’ve done, or thinking about how I could have saved her. The truth is that none of this is true; I couldn’t have done much to save her. But our minds play tricks on us, trying to get us to change the painful reality before us.

Some of my readers know that in my previous professional life, I was a mainline Protestant Christian minister. During my seminary training, I took a whole course on bereavement and in spiritual counseling to those who have experienced loss. During my chaplaincy internship (Clinical Pastoral Education), I even held the hands of people as they breathed their last breath. I accompanied an elderly woman to say goodbye to her husband of over 50 years in a hospital morgue. My experience accompanying those who are mourning is extensive, as I served over 15 years in ministry. And yet, I was not prepared to experience it myself. In my head, I have all the knowledge to navigate this mourning; but in my heart, everything I was taught to recognize and help others navigate through, is dominating my emotions right now. It is an intense, human experience that I on a conscious level am grateful to have as a human being, and on a heart level I can’t fathom that such pain can exist.

Mourning and grieving are different for every person. Mourning and grieving the loss of a pet is a completely different thing. I was never prepared to work with people who have lost a pet. It is also true that every person’s relationship with their pets is different. In my case, Susa was not only a pet companion, but she was also a therapy pet, who accompanied me through some very difficult life situations. The other day, we picked up Susa’s ashes from the veterinary’s office. They put her ashes in an engraved little box. The vet technician had kept Susa’s collar and nametag. I so much appreciated this simple gesture. I added Susa’s nametag to my keychain so she can always be near me. I put the ashes on the chimney mantle and placed her collar on top. I accept that she is gone from this physical reality; and accept that, for as long as I live and are able to, I will remember her. My husband has been instrumental in helping me navigate this loss. He is also hurting and mourning, but his relationship with Susa was slightly different, so he has been able to stay stronger and offer me the support I need as I grieve. I am also grateful for the support and words of encouragement of friends and family. My mom has called pretty much every day as she knows me very well and knows I was going to take a bit longer to process the loss. Even writing this piece has been healing. It took me three days to work through all my thoughts and elaborate on them here, and I am sure some of it reads like a ramble. But in the end, even with the pian of the loss, I am at peace.