"I’m so incredibly sorry. Reading this broke my heart, because I know that particular kind of pain all too well. I’ve had to say goodbye to six kitties over my years on this rotating rock we call Earth, and no matter how many times you experience it, there is absolutely nothing that makes it easier.
What you wrote about Ares growing up alongside you really touched me. He wasn’t “just a cat.” He was a constant. He was there for the little girl you were, the woman you became, through unimaginable loss, happiness, heartbreak, change, and all those ordinary days that somehow become the most precious memories when they’re gone.
And please don’t feel selfish for not being ready. Of course you aren’t ready. How could you possibly be ready to say goodbye to someone who has been part of nearly half your life?
I also smiled through the tears at the thought of him knocking things off your nightstand at 3 AM because he had apparently decided that starvation was imminent. ❤️ Those are the moments you’ll miss the most someday—the ridiculous, annoying, completely ordinary things that only Ares did.
I want you to know that I said hello to him. I told him he’s handsome, that he is very clearly loved, and that he has done an extraordinary job being his person’s little shadow, companion, menace, comfort, and family for almost 11 years.
And when that awful time comes, remember this: you are not giving up on him. You are taking the pain onto yourself so he doesn’t have to carry it anymore. That is one of the hardest and most selfless forms of love there is.
Six times I’ve had to let one of my babies go, and every single one left a hole that never completely disappears. But neither does the love. Somehow, they stay with us—in photographs, in memories, in the empty places they used to sleep, and in those ridiculous little habits that we once wished they would stop doing and would now give anything to experience one more time.
Ares existed. He mattered. He was deeply, ridiculously lo..."