Almost three years ago, I walked into the local shelter and met a cat no one wanted. She was already a senior—thirteen years old, with the years stacked against her. People tend to pass over senior cats in favor of kittens or younger companions. But when I looked at her, something stirred inside me. I brought her home and named her Leona.
From that day forward, she filled my life with her boundless energy, her endless conversations, and her unwavering love. Leona was not a quiet, retiring soul; she was a presence—alive, alert, always letting me know what she thought and how she felt. In her company, the house was never silent. She has been, in every sense of the word, family.
Now she is approaching sixteen. The years have caught up with her, as they always do. This past Thursday she visited the vet, who prescribed antibiotics. At first there was hope—her body seemed to respond—but in the days since, she has grown weaker. She no longer eats, no longer drinks. And yet, even in this fading season, she still loves. She still looks at me with eyes that say: I am here. I am yours. I am with you.
Tomorrow I will call her vet again. Together we will decide what is best for Leona—whether she should slip quietly away in her sleep at home, pain-free and held in love, or whether it is kinder to carry her in for that final mercy, that heartbreaking farewell. Neither path is easy. Neither feels right. But love demands courage, and sometimes courage is found in letting go.
This is not about me. This is about Leona—her voice, her joy, the sweetness she brought to every day of her life. It is about honoring who she is and what she has given, not clinging selfishly to what I want. Still, I cannot deny how deeply it hurts.
When she does cross the Rainbow Bridge—and I feel that time is near—she will not go alone. Waiting for her will be Lady, Kitty Black, Tinkerbell, Lassie, Tanya, Harry, and CJ. All the companions who came before, all the friends I have loved and lost. She will join them in that meadow of forever play and sunlight, where hunger, thirst, and pain are no more. And one day, I believe, I will see them all again. What a day that will be.
Leona is the last one. Throughout my life I have opened my heart and my home to these furry souls, and in return they have given me love beyond measure. But I know now that I cannot do this again. The grief is too heavy, the ache too deep. The price of love is loss, and this time it feels like more than I can bear.
And yet, even in this sorrow, I am grateful. Grateful that Leona chose me, that I had the privilege of loving her, that I could give her these final years of warmth, safety, and devotion. Grateful for every moment she sat beside me, for every time her voice filled the quiet, for every morning she greeted with her indomitable spirit.
As I sit with her now, stroking her fur, whispering words of love, I know this much is true: she has been a gift.
And no goodbye—not even the final one—can take that away.
* * * * * * * * * *
"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." ~A.A. Milne
~Wylddane
From that day forward, she filled my life with her boundless energy, her endless conversations, and her unwavering love. Leona was not a quiet, retiring soul; she was a presence—alive, alert, always letting me know what she thought and how she felt. In her company, the house was never silent. She has been, in every sense of the word, family.
Now she is approaching sixteen. The years have caught up with her, as they always do. This past Thursday she visited the vet, who prescribed antibiotics. At first there was hope—her body seemed to respond—but in the days since, she has grown weaker. She no longer eats, no longer drinks. And yet, even in this fading season, she still loves. She still looks at me with eyes that say: I am here. I am yours. I am with you.
Tomorrow I will call her vet again. Together we will decide what is best for Leona—whether she should slip quietly away in her sleep at home, pain-free and held in love, or whether it is kinder to carry her in for that final mercy, that heartbreaking farewell. Neither path is easy. Neither feels right. But love demands courage, and sometimes courage is found in letting go.
This is not about me. This is about Leona—her voice, her joy, the sweetness she brought to every day of her life. It is about honoring who she is and what she has given, not clinging selfishly to what I want. Still, I cannot deny how deeply it hurts.
When she does cross the Rainbow Bridge—and I feel that time is near—she will not go alone. Waiting for her will be Lady, Kitty Black, Tinkerbell, Lassie, Tanya, Harry, and CJ. All the companions who came before, all the friends I have loved and lost. She will join them in that meadow of forever play and sunlight, where hunger, thirst, and pain are no more. And one day, I believe, I will see them all again. What a day that will be.
Leona is the last one. Throughout my life I have opened my heart and my home to these furry souls, and in return they have given me love beyond measure. But I know now that I cannot do this again. The grief is too heavy, the ache too deep. The price of love is loss, and this time it feels like more than I can bear.
And yet, even in this sorrow, I am grateful. Grateful that Leona chose me, that I had the privilege of loving her, that I could give her these final years of warmth, safety, and devotion. Grateful for every moment she sat beside me, for every time her voice filled the quiet, for every morning she greeted with her indomitable spirit.
As I sit with her now, stroking her fur, whispering words of love, I know this much is true: she has been a gift.
And no goodbye—not even the final one—can take that away.
* * * * * * * * * *
"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." ~A.A. Milne
~Wylddane
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