Many of you have messaged me about not being able to find TUNA anywhere, and indeed, the sixth (seventh? eighth?) print run has completely sold out, and I have learned that the hardcover edition will not be reprinted.

Last year, the original publisher, Sounds True, sold their entire publishing catalog to Macmillan, a “Big Five” publisher, under their St. Martin’s Essentials imprint.

Because Sounds True had done so many print runs (where thousands of books are printed and warehoused for distribution), I just assumed that St. Martin’s Essentials would do the same.

So I’m heartbroken to tell you that the English hardcover version of Tuna is now out of print. If you happen to have any copies left, hold onto them. (I had to ask a friend to send me one of theirs, because I’d given all mine away.) The book has been selling around 800 to 1,000 copies a year, but that’s not enough sales for the company to keep printing the hardcover.

Please know that I have zero control over this; I’ve already tried. Macmillan is a large company that has nearly 30 imprints (subsidiaries like St. Martin’s Essentials) and nearly 6,000 employees in the 70 countries where they operate. This was purely a financial decision, and there’s nothing we can do right now.

TUNA has never been about money for me, but publishing is a business, and ultimately, it has to be profitable. When anyone gets a book deal, they relinquish control over what happens with that book.

Paperback version coming this fall

Like cats, books have many lives. The silver lining is that there will be a paperback edition coming this fall. From the beginning, a big part of TUNA was the “heft” of a hardcover book that says, “I see what you’re going through, and I care.”

Yet that message itself was the original gift Francis gave me, two days after Hedda died. The casual format—a digital sketch inside an email attachment—didn’t minimize the impact of his kindness.

This little sketch and note inspired a book, and I hope TUNA will continue to heal hearts as a paperback. It’s still over 100 pages, so it will have some heft to it, but what matters more are the energy behind the words and illustrations.

Substack and Instagram will remain

This Substack and the Instagram morethantuna will remain as a resource for anyone preparing for or grieving the loss of a pet. Over the last decade, I’ve written a lot about pet loss grief, and there are even some pieces I haven’t yet shared. While there are more resources today than a decade ago, I’m glad I have been able to create material to support those in grief at a time when few other resources existed.

Translations coming in 2027

Another exciting piece of news is that two new translations will be coming in 2027 (I believe both will be hardcover). I can’t tell you about them yet, but they’ll join the Simplified Chinese version that already exists in mainland China.

Translations are a complicated thing in publishing. Like all large publishers, Macmillan has a team of people whose entire job it is to sell rights to publishers in other languages and countries. Macmillan has a lock on the English-speaking world, but publishers in other areas (like China) pay a certain amount to be able to publish it in their language. I’ve been assured that they will continue to look for opportunities to sell TUNA in non-English languages.

If my writing speaks to you, please follow The Counterintuitive Guide to Life. TUNA has always been sharing the same ideas as that project, albeit through a paw-shaped lens.

The Counterintuitive Guide to Life

Develop life skills for a shifting planet. Cultivate self-awareness and presence, dismantle conditioning that sustains systems of oppression, and learn to navigate life’s paradoxes so you can reclaim inner peace and help create a more inclusive world.

By Sarah Chauncey

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

• Click or tap the heart icon ❤️ to like this post

• Share this post by ‘restacking’ (use the ‘quote’ function to say what helped you the most about this post)

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The most difficult thing about adopting an animal is that we’re also making an agreement to have our hearts broken, often years or (hopefully) decades down the line. We don’t always know when that will happen or how. This post is for guardians who choose euthanasia to alleviate an animal’s suffering. If your loss happened differently, I am so sorry, and there are many other articles in this Substack that may be better for you.

When it was clear that Hedda was in her final days, a veterinary technician gave me a piece of advice I’ve held close ever since: “Take time to let your emotions catch up to your decision. If you don’t, it will be much, much harder afterwards.” As long as your animal friend isn’t in acute distress, she said, it’s usually not a problem to wait a couple of days. That advice helped me begin to process the loss while Hedda was still with me.

Euthanasia is one of the most excruciating decisions a guardian will ever have to make. Part of what makes it so difficult is that our culture has no rituals to mark this transition, nor to grieve the end of a relationship that holds a unique place in our hearts and lives.

In my experience, creating a ritual to say goodbye before euthanasia was part of how I came to accept that the loss was imminent. Not anything more than that. In turn, that made a significant difference in my ability to process grief.

When I knew my 20 years with my cat Hedda were coming to an end—after I’d forgiven the vet for daring to utter the word “euthanasia” and after I’d broken through my own denial—I decided that I wanted to say goodbye formally. Nobody was talking about this in 2016; it just felt like the only thing I could do. I cleared my schedule so I could be with her for the final 24 hours.

Creating a Ritual to Say Goodbye

Each person, each animal, and each relationship is unique. Just as with The Decision, nobody can tell you what is right for your or your animal friend. This is what I did; if something resonates with you, incorporate it. If something else comes to mind, try that.

1. Express gratitude. I talked to Hedda. I thanked her for staying so long and for being such a wonderful companion. I thanked her for saving my life through several bouts of severe depression. I told her what an amazing job she’d done in this lifetime, and how much I’d miss her. I told her how sorry I was that I couldn’t fix her body, but that that was the nature of bodies. They eventually fall apart. But who she really was would never die. She stared straight into my eyes with such clarity that I thought she must have understood. Not the words, of course, but the intention. The language of the heart.

2. Separate energy. Although I’d been telling Hedda it was all right for her to go, I sensed that my energy was holding her back. After 20 years together, our energies were pretty entwined. I did a formal visualization and called my energy back to me, and I released her energy back to her. If you’ve never done this, picture defragmenting a hard drive; you’re making sure each byte of energy is where it’s meant to be.

3. Find a mantra. What is a line that encapsulates your relationship with your cat? For me, it was one I adapted from Buddhist teacher Adyashanti: “What’s looking through your eyes is also looking through mine.” Whenever I whispered it, Hedda looked straight into my eyes—something she hadn’t done in a while. It’s hard to articulate just how powerful this was—I began feeling (not just believing) that Hedda and I were expressions of the same consciousness, and that what was about to die was “only” her body.

4. Allow tears. Crying doesn’t mean that anything is wrong. I had dreaded this event for years; I had cried oceans just imagining it. Yet once it was imminent, there was no story in my mind about how it shouldn’t be happening. Something about the urgency of the situation brought me into the present moment in a way I’d never felt before. There were tears, of course—sometimes so many that I thought they might never stop. But as long as I allowed what I was feeling, the feeling eventually passed.

5. Play music. Find a song that’s meaningful to you. I played “Lullaby” by Cris Williamson on repeat. I’d sung it to Hedda as a kitten, when she loved to be rocked like a human baby. Although I’ve loved the song since its release in the late 1980s, it’s recently become a bit of an anthem for transitions. She seemed soothed by the music, though the song still makes me cry in 2026.

6. Offer treats. If your cat is still eating, this is the time to ply her with her favorite food or treats. For Hedda, this was tuna (which she hadn’t been allowed for years due to kidney disease) and malt-flavor hairball gel (yes, really).

The Last Hour of Hedda’s Physical Life

I had read articles by several animal communicators who said animals aren’t afraid of death, but they do want to know what’s going to happen during the euthanasia process. I explained who was coming, where they were going to stand, what would happen, and (based on my understanding) what she would probably experience. I also explained why—that I didn’t want her to suffer any more.

At 3:00, I lit a tea candle and smudged the room with sage.

We snuggled.

I reminisced.

She purred.

I cried.

She kept one paw on my arm, and she looked into my eyes frequently. She also wanted chin scratches. A lot.

At 4:00, the vet arrived. (I had borrowed money so that her last experience would be familiar—on her heating pad, on my bed, in my arms.)

During the procedure, I lay next to her on the bed, my forehead pressed against hers, one hand on her face and the other on her belly, and I whispered over and over again through tears, “May you be safe. May you be happy. May you be loved.” Which might seem an odd thing to say as I was paying to have a vet end her physical life, but what I meant was: “May you (in all incarnations, on all dimensions) always be safe, happy and loved.”

I held her as she took her last breath, my tears soaking her fur, and I felt a subtle vibration that I’d swear was her spirit leaving her body (at least, I’d like to think it was).

What’s amazing to me—still—is how peaceful and even beautiful her passing was. It didn’t stop the tears, it didn’t make me miss her any less, and I was in a fugue state for a month afterwards. But I believe that creating a ritual—taking the time to say goodbye before euthanasia—made all the difference in my ability to come to terms with her death.

In the comments, please share anything you’ve done that helped you during the excruciating process of saying goodbye.

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

• Subscribe to this Substack, if you don’t already

• Upgrade to a paid subscription (bonus: you’ll be supporting a Canadian 🇨🇦!)

• Click or tap the heart icon ❤️ to like this post

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• Leave a review wherever you purchase the book

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I said goodbye to my cat Hedda on December 7, 2016, after a week during which I couldn’t make the appointment without breaking down in sobs, and while my experience of her transition was the best it could have been, the holidays felt brutal that year.

The anniversary of Hedda’s euthanasia hit hard in the first couple of years. My body remembered before my brain did. I was actively writing about pet loss grief and the human-animal bond, so that the book P.S. I Love You More Than Tuna could make its way into the world. That kept me in relationship with Hedda for years, even after the book was published. I felt her around me whenever I reached for her. I told and retold my story on podcasts; I heard from thousands of people who were mourning the loss of their animal friends.

Last spring, I moved to a new city. It didn’t even occur to me until 10 days ago that this is the first city I’ve lived in without Hedda since 1996. Ariel is with me, of course, and maybe it’s that Ariel is now 7—not a young kitten any more (not an old cat, either, but technically ‘senior’—that this holiday season has been so much harder. On the anniversary this year, I cried. It wasn’t that I believed she “should” be here in physical form. I just missed my snugglebunny. (Don’t get me wrong: I adore my chaos goblin, too, but it’s a different relationship.)

Why are the holidays so hard after losing a pet?

Holidays are typically a time of reflection on the year and looking forward. Both of those can bring forward grief, especially if the loss happened during the year. We plan and set intentions for the new year…without our animal friend. Of course we’re going to feel it!

Then there are family visits and the expectation of merriment at a time that doesn’t feel very merry to us. Others’ good cheer can amplify the sense of aloneness or sadness. When that becomes pressure to perform holiday cheer, that effectively dismisses our grief and compounds it.

Five Ways to Take Care of Yourself

If the holidays are hard for you this year, the most important thing is not to abandon or dismiss yourself or what you’re feeling. Here are some suggestions:

1. Remember to give yourself compassion. Try this (credit to Tara Brach): place a hand over your heart and say (silently or aloud), “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I love you.” This is a technique you can do anywhere—and if you wear a backpack or carry a purse or messenger bag, it’s even easier to do. Whichever side the strap is on, take your hand and place it flatly over both your heart and the strap. Really take time to feel your heartbeat under your palm, and then your palm from the heart’s perspective.
   

2. Carry a totem of your animal friend. As you go about holiday duties, find something small that reminds you of your pet, and keep it in your pocket. A tennis ball is too big, of course, but a name tag is small enough. Whenever grief arises, hold the object in your hand, and remind yourself that love doesn’t die, only physical form does. The love between you and your pet is as present now as it was when they were embodied. Of course, we want the physical form back, but everything in this world is impermanent… except the energy of love.
   

3. Create an energetic boundary. Before you enter any space where there’s going to be ‘holiday cheer’ (not just parties, but also stores, concerts, even coffee shops), pause for a moment. Close your eyes and remember the depth of your love for your pet; as the saying goes, “grief is love with nowhere to go.” Feel your feet solidly supported by the earth. Visualize ropes extending from the soles of your feet deep down into the earth to anchor you. Then imagine you’re surrounded by a transparent oval cocoon, thin, flexible and only as permeable as you decide.
   

4. Give yourself permission to back out of holiday events. For most people, there’s a flood (or snowdrift) of invitations and events, both personal and seasonal. You aren’t obligated to attend any of them, no matter what people say. If you believe you must attend, it’s okay to stay just fifteen minutes, or whatever your window of tolerance is for that event. You don’t owe anyone an explanation, but “I think I might have COVID” rarely brings forth any further questions.
   

5. Ask for support. If there’s anyone at a given event who understands the depth of your grief, try to pre-arrange a hand signal that they can respond to, to change the conversation or lead you away. Alternately, even texting friends for support can be helpful. In my moments of deep pain (pet loss and otherwise), simply texting someone can bring a little relief.

You don’t owe an explanation to anyone. If people around you are dismissive or minimizing, you can either respond with, “This is how I feel.” Or you may even want to stay silent. Not out of agreement, but letting a hurtful comment land in silence is often even more powerful than offering a response.

The well-known introvert tricks work well in this situation, too: escape to the bathroom, go outside for some brisk air, or if things are really intolerable, leave early. Don’t abandon yourself.

My workbook to help you navigate difficult times

This 60-page PDF workbook is based on my lived experience of navigating many dark nights of the soul, as well as the ancient wisdom that gave rise to those practices, all in plain English. I’m not here to be anyone’s “wellness influencer.” Rather, I care deeply about helping readers find inner peace based on techniques that have helped me.

When You Don’t Recognize Your Life Anymore:
17 Practices to Help You Navigate a Dark Night of the Soul

When collapse happens, whether personal or collective, our sense of stability and certainty is uprooted. This workbook won’t fix that. It’s here to offer something else: A way to stay with what’s happening without abandoning yourself. This 60-page guide helps you give yourself the inner resources you need when navigating a spiritual initiation, and it’s a starting point on your path to reclaiming wholeness.

The workbook is typically priced at $17 USD. Through Sunday, December 21st, however, readers can purchase the workbook for just $9.99 by using the code TUNA10.

CLICK TO LEARN MORE

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

• Subscribe to this Substack, if you don’t already.

• Upgrade to a paid subscription (You can help support my writing!)

• Click or tap the heart icon to like this post

• Share this post by ‘restacking’ (use the ‘quote’ function to say what helped you the most about this post)

• Give a copy of TUNA to someone who has recently lost a pet

• Leave a review wherever you purchase the book

• Forward this email to a friend or share the link on social media

Share

Volunteering as a Way to Heal

-       keeps us connected

-       surround yourself with people who understand what you’re going through

-       “giving” and getting out of your head

-       volunteering improves emotional well-being

-       animal therapy

Grief can be an overwhelming experience, and it's one that needs to be honored. Yet it's also important to take steps to remain anchored in the world, so we don't become defined by our grief or our loss. Finding that balance can be tricky. Volunteering with a rescue or shelter not only helps the animals involved—it can also help us remain anchored in the present while surrounded by people who understand our loss.

Most of the fosters I know began fostering after their cat died. They wanted feline companionship, they wanted to help, but they weren't ready to adopt. I would guess the majority of volunteers at my local rescue began volunteering after their cats died. When a companion animal dies, our grief may be so intense that we feel we have nothing left to give. By volunteering, we come to see that we do have something to offer, and that grief—even intense grief—is one aspect of our human experience. It's a universal aspect of human experience. It doesn't define who we are.

Volunteering Keeps Us Connected

One of the biggest challenges of grief is isolation and loneliness. Grieving itself is mostly a very personal process, and when it comes to grieving a cat, our culture has no rituals or processes, no way of publicly sharing that grief and collectively holding the bereaved. This can leave people feeling misunderstood and even more isolated. But isolation can lead to loneliness, and that's really detrimental to our physical and emotional well-being. Some studies show that loneliness carries with it a mortality risk similar to smoking. Volunteering is a way to connect with people who understand what you're going through. It decreases social isolation and contributes to your own and others' well-being.

In addition, volunteering can be a way to transform grief into purpose. A friend of mine started Kitten Knittin after her daughter's kitten died from FIP. She looked at the project—knitting comfort blankets for foster kittens—as Paisley's legacy. Knowing that you're doing something to help others can bring you a renewed sense of inspiration, a reason to get up in the morning, and a way to connect with your cat, even though they're no longer a physical furball.

Numerous studies have shown that volunteering improves emotional well-being and overall happiness. The more frequently you volunteer, the more likely you are to feel very content with your life.

You Have So Much to Offer—Really

There are so many volunteer positions out there (and every community has dozens-to-hundreds of organizations that need volunteers, but for the purposes of this post, I'll focus on animal rescue). Do you have an extra bathroom or den? If so, you have enough space to foster. Almost any space is better than being stuck in a crate at a shelter. Can you knit squares? Great! You can knit comfort blankets for foster kittens. What about helping feed feral colonies? Got nerves of steel? Help with TNR! If you have a car, you can drive cats and kittens to and from veterinary appointments, or between foster homes. You can also help with fundraising, accounting, or even be a legal consultant. None of the above apply to me (can't knit, scaredy-cat, don't drive), so I write and edit our quarterly newsletter. Whatever your passion is, whatever your primary skill is, you can use it to help a nonprofit.

In turn, volunteering provides a focus, a way to channel your grief and bring forth something positive. Or even something that just co-exists with grief (I'm not a fan of pushing away anything we're feeling). It can help to get out of our own minds and focus on something or someone else, if only for a short period. Yes, feeling our feelings is essential for working through them...that doesn't mean a distraction now and then is a bad thing. And if that distraction comes in the form of volunteering, it's a win for everybody!

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

• Subscribe to this Substack, if you don’t already

• Upgrade to a paid subscription (bonus: you’ll be supporting a Canadian 🇨🇦!)

• Click or tap the heart icon to like this post

• Share this post by ‘restacking’ (use the ‘quote’ function to say what helped you the most about this post)

• Leave a review wherever you purchase the book

• Forward this email to a friend or share the link on social media

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This is an article (rather than a blog post) I wrote in 2019, with the hopes of placing it in an outlet like Salon or The Atlantic. That didn’t happen, so I’ve decided to share it here. Although many different internet-famous cats have died in the years since, the emotional impact is the same for many followers.

Content warning: This article discusses the details of individual cats’ deaths, which may be distressing to readers. If you think it will upset you, please take care of yourself and don’t read further.

Oskar the Blind Cat

“911—call me ASAP,” the text read.

The morning had begun like any other. In a high-rise in downtown Seattle, Mick Szydlowski put his daughters, Faye and Fern, in high chairs as he prepared their favorite breakfast, boiled eggs. The girls’ mother, Bethany, had left for her job as a hospital lab technician hours earlier. As they ate, the family’s six-year-old cat, Oskar, stood on his hind legs, attempting to steal cottage cheese off Mick’s plate. Mick thought it was cute and took a video to share with the feline’s 400,000 Instagram followers. Mick put on a cartoon for the girls while he fed Oskar and their older cat, Klaus.

Mick stepped into the galley kitchen to rinse off some dishes. When he returned, he noticed Oskar lying underneath the table. Then he noticed the cat’s tongue sticking out. A feeling of dread wrenched his stomach. Mick picked Oskar up; there was no tension in the cat’s body. A wave of panic hit him, as it does when any of us have an emergency with our pet. That’s when he texted his wife and began CPR on Oskar.

***

Approximately 15,000 domestic cats die every day in the United States—and that’s just those who have lived a full lifespan. For each of those cats, at least one human grieves. Until recently, the only animals most of us grieved were those we lived with, or maybe a dog we knew well from the park. The internet has allowed people to become deeply invested in animals they’ve never met. And with love comes grief.

Instagram has been a lifesaver for innumerable cats, especially those with health conditions. Shelters overflow with unwanted felines in need of a home. Many of them euthanize the ones they consider unadoptable, simply for lack of space and resources. “Special-needs” animals are among the most popular accounts on Instagram, and they often inspire followers to adopt shelter cats with similar conditions.

Eddie the Lilac Lion

Eddie (@eddie_the_lilac_lion) had multiple challenges from his rough start in life. By the time he arrived in Beacon, NY with photographer Jennifer Sarah Blakeslee, Eddie was toothless, mostly deaf and half-blind, with severe nystagmus and painful eustachian scarring from ongoing ear infections. These traits only made him more lovable to Blakeslee—and to the account’s 70,000 followers. When Eddie needed surgery to remove his precancerous ear canals, followers chipped in to contribute nearly $4,000 in less than a day. At that point, Blakeslee decided, “he was no longer “my” cat. He was everyone’s cat.”

Blakeslee captured Eddie’s face in snarky expressions juxtaposed with captions that evoked a being of endless compassion, an advocate for mental health issues, a fierce social justice warrior, and avid consumer of tunatinis. She created a persona that effectively channeled her voice through a perception of Eddie’s personality. She wrote what she, and so many other people, needed to hear. That included the goodbyes.

“When his time came, I felt a real responsibility to make his experience and my grief accessible to everybody. He was a being that people had come to not just love, but rely on for humor, for connections, whatever. The ending of that, there was something sacred about it. I wanted to honor that, not just for me, but for [his followers].”

L’il Bub

L’il BUB (@iamlilbub) was the most adored cat ever to grace the internet, with more than 2.5 million social media followers. BUB ticked all the boxes that trigger our “cute baby mammal” protective instincts: Tiny body and short legs, thanks to a form of dwarfism; huge soulful eyes; lolling tongue and a demeanor that can only be described as “super chill.” 

On the morning of December 1, 2019, BUB’s “dude,” musician and recording studio owner Mike Bridavsky, began his morning routine—his wife Stacy had gone out with their two young children, leaving Mike alone in the house. “I was cleaning up and I thought, oh, where's BUB? I haven't heard BUB. And then I went into the room that she sleeps in and I just opened the door and saw her there laying there.” His voice broke as he recalled that morning. “I knew instantly. It was a real shock. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I didn't know what to do.”

As with humans and other mammals, a cat’s death is often accompanied by a releasing of the bowels. “It was awful,” Mike recalled. “I bathed her poor dead body. I was so in shock.” He only remembers one phrase that looped in his mind: “Oh, what do I do? What do I do? What do I do? Like, ‘what do I do’ on so many levels? What do I do now? What do I do later? What do I do 10 days from now? Like, what do I do with everything? Oh my gosh, it was so intense.”

For at least three months, Mike said, “I was a real, total wreck. There were only a few hours between sobfests.” Yet he had to keep going. Within minutes of announcing BUB’s death, merchandise sales—the primary source for L’il BUB’s Big FUND—spiked off the chart. In the following week, they sold more merch than they had in the previous three years combined.

 “[BUB] knew when she was going to die,” Bridavsky said. “She knew everything. I knew that when she passed, she would show me the way.”

***

“To accept the reality of the loss” is the first of psychologist William Worden’s Four Tasks of Mourning, a framework better-suited to the nonlinear experience of grief than Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ better-known “five stages of grief.”

When it comes to pets, we often know the date and exact time of death a few days in advance, which means there’s an opportunity to accept that the loss is going to happen. Blakeslee, who arranged euthanasia for Eddie, shared her anticipatory grief with Eddie’s followers. “I positioned the whole experience as thanking him for what he gave us and what he brought to the world and being brutally honest about the pain and the sadness. It was important for me to share that, because other people felt connected to him, too.”

Being witnessed in grief, it turns out, is a powerful balm for healing.

Support via social media

Fifteen minutes after Mick found Oskar under the table, he and his wife stood in the veterinarian’s office as the doctor tried to revive Oskar. Ultimately, the vet determined that the six-year-old cat had died from sudden heart failure, likely due to an unrecognized congenital heart condition.

Within a few hours, thousands of comments offered condolences. Within days, the number grew to over 30,000. Oskar’s fans and followers had watched him from the time Mick and Bethany adopted him as a seven-week-old kitten from a farmer in Iowa. They witnessed Oskar shadow-box a hairdryer, and later, work with the National Federation for the Blind and NASA. And now they were witnessing Mick and Bethany in their grief. The couple took turns reading comments out loud to each other, which helped, "because the comments were filled with so much love and support for us."

For the Szydlowskis and Bridaviskys, followers helped them to process the shock at their young cats’ sudden deaths—in other words, to accept that the loss had happened

Mike hadn’t ever talked about himself on BUB’s platform, and that remained true of his grieving process. “I shared a lot of my favorite memories, my favorite photos of her and what she meant to everyone.” He also worked to figure out how to continue her legacy and “honor the work that she’d done.” In addition, he noted, “There are tens of thousands of people who genuinely believed that they loved her more than I did. And I couldn't let those people down. I just did what felt natural and what felt right and sort of what was in my heart.”

Fans who grieve “meme cats”—Colonel Meow, Keyboard Cat or Grumpy Cat—may also feel a loss, but they likely never felt as though they had a relationship with that particular cat. Special needs cats are different. Fans grieve, not unlike the way people grieve for a human celebrity that has touched their lives or brought them happiness.

Pet loss psychologist Dr. Catherine Lawlor, PsyD. (@pettlosspsychologist) explains the power of those accounts, “[They] are showing that you can have a disability and still be loved. I think the reason those accounts are so popular is they tap into our vulnerabilities. Deep down, we all just want to be loved. And especially in this culture, there is such a priority on outward beauty and perfection. And these accounts that are saying, ‘No, let's embrace what all comes natural to us, and we can live, beautiful, wonderful fulfilling magical lives’ and I think it just touches on the vulnerability.”

For many followers, Oskar, Eddie or BUB brought their only smiles of the day; checking their accounts was a morning or evening ritual.

Art as expression of grief and love

As a culture, we don’t have any rituals for grieving a companion animal, and the Instagram cat community has organically developed some of its own. Among the most popular: fan art and shelter donations.

Bridavsky says, “I literally have hundreds, if not thousands of unique works of art that are like quality, like oil paintings and all kinds of stuff.” As an inked guy himself, he’s always noticed the fans who got BUB tattoos. “But when she passed away, there was a huge influx of BUB tattoos I have, at least, I'd say 150 photos of BUB tattoos.” Some of BUB’s “superfans” came together and purchased a star in the tiny feline’s name. “That was really special, really sweet.” He adds that it made the experience “much more emotional, in a way.”

As pet loss psychologist Lawlor says, “It's [followers’] way of processing their grief, while hopefully doing something good for either the animal community or for a cause that's incredibly meaningful to them.” She adds, “Grief is so incredibly powerful yet so incredibly feared in this culture. None of us wants to feel helpless.” Creating art or making a donation “gives us that sense of agency that we can contribute and we can mark this occasion.” It’s also a way to express gratitude to a cat’s guardians, she adds, for “doing something that was so meaningful to them.”

Life in the spotlight after pet loss

All three accounts continue to be active. Blakeslee continues to post photos of Eddie alongside her other cats, and she now writes social justice and mental health advocacy posts in her own voice. When she posts photos of Eddie, followers say, “‘I needed to see this today. Thank you.’”

Mick and Bethany adopted another blind kitten, Juno (@thejunocat), who carries on Oskar’s legacy, as does their elder statescat, Klaus (@theklauscat). The Bridavskys continued to honor BUB’s mission: to raise awareness and adoption of special-needs pets. They fundraise and manage L’il BUB’s Big FUND, which helps rescues cover expenses related to special-needs cats, and they’re launching a fund for people who foster special-needs cats.

Instagram is popular among those grieving pets

Cats on Instagram fill a very specific need in our culture. As Lawlor sees it, “We [humans] go around projecting our deepest fears and hold on to each other and those get pinged around and bounce back in very complicated ways. That's not the case with animals. They just absorb everything that we give them and give it back to us in the most natural way.” In an increasingly complex and chaotic world, “They just simply want to be by our side and love us. And vice versa. We just want to be loved. With an animal, you just don't have to think. You can turn your mind off and turn your heart on.”

If these losses have taught us anything, she concludes, it’s that “All we have is this moment.”

One more meow…

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Anticipatory grief is grief that arises before a death—when you know the time is coming, but your cat is still alive. If we let it, anticipatory grief can cast a shadow over the time you have left with a sick or senior cat. But this “grief in advance” can also be a gift, if we can recognize it and work with it. 

Our time together is scarce

As humans, we tend to value things that are scarce. This is usually applied to material goods (because we live in a consumer culture), but the psychological principle behind it is the same: Our lives, and the lives of all beings, are limited. Most of the time, most of us live in denial of this fact. When we can accept that death is inevitable—and admittedly, that’s a big “when”—we are free to appreciate each moment so much more.

When we adopt a kitten, or even a healthy young cat, we’re not thinking about sickness, illness, palliative care, or death. At a certain point, though, we all get a wake-up call, a reminder that the feline lifespan is shorter than the average human lifespan. Most cats, if they live long enough, will develop kidney disease. Many develop diabetes and/or hyperthyroidism. Usually, these are detected long before they become life-threatening, and treatments can either reverse the illness (as can happen with diabetes), cure it (some treatments for hyperthyroidism) or at least slow the decline. Yet for many cat guardians, especially those who haven’t had a geriatric cat before, just the words “kidney disease” can bring on anticipatory grief, even if the cat lives for years following the diagnosis. The awareness of death is both painful and a gift.

The gift of anticipatory grief

The opportunity inherent in anticipatory grief is to work with what psychologist William Wordon calls “the first task of mourning,” to accept the reality of the (impending) loss. If we can do this before our cat’s death, then the experience can be much less traumatic—and even peaceful or sacred.

To be clear, I’m not talking about “getting over” a loss—grief is a lifetime experience that comes in waves and nonlinear zigzags. I’m talking about healing in a way that allows us to move forward in our own lives.

Stay in the moment as much as possible

If you’re reading this, you’ve made it through 100% of the worst days of your life so far. We humans have a surprising ability to handle whatever arises in the moment, no matter how challenging or painful. The future, though, is just a thought, and focusing on “what it will be like” only makes us suffer more.

That said, if you’re experiencing anticipatory grief, you likely are having to strategize—Do I continue treatment? What’s best for my cat? Should I get a second opinion? Is it time?—and strategizing, because it’s an intellectual process, can lead directly to worry and regret. This is why it helps to come back to the present moment—rather than our stories about it—multiple times a day.

By “the present moment,” I mean the sights, sounds, scents and tactile facts. The wind on your face. The cushion beneath your bottom. The honking cars or chirping birds outside. Look, listen, smell, touch—without labeling any experience “good” or “bad.”

Although you might be overwhelmed by anticipation of what’s to come, try to remember that in this moment, your cat is still with you. Feel her fur. Give him a butt scratch. If you have stopped treatment and aren’t concerned about what they eat, this is the time to spoil your cat with treats. Talk to him or her about your favorite memories together. Take note of your cat’s quirks and tell them the things you love about them.

Focus on feelings more than thoughts

In my experience, anticipatory grief involves a whole lot of crying. And that’s a good thing—we cry because we love these beings, and the pain wants to come out.

If your cat is young, or even with an older cat, you may have thoughts like, “This shouldn’t be happening” or “He’s too young.” Those thoughts, while completely understandable, are a form of resistance. As long as we resist what is happening, we create more pain for ourselves. It sounds counter-intuitive, but our minds try to protect our hearts by distracting us from pure pain. Yet the only way for pain to work its way through our bodies is to feel it directly. No matter how big or intense the waves, if you allow them, they will pass. 

Start by observing your thoughts (if this is new to you, you can start here). Then ask yourself whether the thought is based in fact, or whether you’re interpreting your thoughts in a way that adds to your distress.

Focus on the sensations in your body. You may have to redirect your attention away from your thoughts hundreds of times. Don’t beat yourself up—this is totally normal. Keep bringing attention back to what you’re feeling physically. Close your eyes and scan your body for areas of tension. A shortcut, if you’re in public, is to close your eyes and focus intensely on the feeling of your hands. When you focus on the hands, eventually you’ll feel a kind of tingling in the nerve endings. Focus on that sensation, just for a moment. And then the next moment.

The physical experiences underneath your emotions—a racing heart, a heaviness in the chest, brain fog—probably won’t kill you. Your thoughts, though, can keep pain entrenched much more deeply and for much longer than the natural lifespan of an emotion.

Seek support from those who understand

Not everybody understands how painful it is to face the final days or months with a companion animal. Find people who have been through it; give yourself some distance from those who don’t get it or who might be dismissive.

If there’s nobody in your immediate community, look online for a group like Tuna Tributes. There are counselors and therapists who specialize in pet loss, and many veterinary schools have pet loss support hotlines.

If your mind and heart are reeling, give yourself some compassion—treat yourself the way you would treat a kitten in distress. What you’re going through is intensely painful and difficult.

I grieved so much in advance of Hedda’s death that afterwards, I didn’t cry nearly as much (though of course, I grieved in other ways). I believe that anticipatory grief gives us a grace period, and making the most of that, in turn, allows us to have the fewest regrets possible.

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

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After the death of a beloved pet, it can be hard to believe we could ever open our hearts and homes to another. While it’s true that each animal (and our bond with them) is unique, keeping our hearts closed to future companions means we can wind up dwelling on the loss, rather than exploring new bonds.

When my soulmate cat, Hedda, died, I was ready to adopt about three months later. As so often happens, though, life had other plans. It would be another year and a bit—and many, many “interviews” later—before a new kitten found her way to me. That kitten is now seven years old and the love of my life.

Finding the Right Companion

Towards the end of Hedda’s life, I had a dream in which she spoke to me—in a croaky kind of voice, because the feline larynx isn’t made for human language. She said, “I try to come back within two years.” That increased the stakes exponentially. I wasn’t just looking for a kitten; I was looking for Hedda’s next incarnation.

I kept hoping that a kitten would show up on my daily walks—the classic “cat chooses human” story…but that didn’t happen. I met several who were adorable, but I just didn’t feel a connection with any of them.

When a friend sent me a photo of a shorthair tortie girl at a rescue in a neighboring town, I was immediately smitten, yet cautious. By that point, I’d been “smitten” with half a dozen kittens whose photos had convinced me they were The One, but things hadn’t panned out.

A few hours later, I was home with Ariel.

Introducing Ariel (aka Hello, Tortitude)

The name “Ariel” means “lion of God” in Hebrew. I translate that as “lioness of love.” In mystical traditions, Ariel is also the archangel who oversees the natural world—and the natural world is my happy place.

I hadn’t planned on adopting a tortie. My only requirements were female (personal preference) and shorthair (allergies). As much as I adore black cats, I was a bit concerned that if I adopted another one, I’d constantly be comparing her to Hedda. I now joke that I have a half-black cat.

Ariel showed her tortitude early on. It took me days to figure out how to convince her to eat wet food. I tried topping food with nutritional yeast (nope), FortiFlora (nope) and finally, ground Parmesan (aha!). Turns out my little girl was addicted to cheese.

As Jackson Galaxy has said of torties, Ariel was and is super-sensitive to the energy around her. Whatever I’m putting out, consciously or unconsciously, she reflects back to me.

She was (and is) super-chatty, even more so than Hedda—and her range of sounds is impressive. It took me years to figure out the different sounds, but when she’s bored, she flops on the floor dramatically and lets out a distinct whine. As a kitten, she leapt onto the keyboard with abandon, explored the shower as soon as I stepped out, and chewed everything from shoelaces to my laptop. Yes, the glass part.

I don’t know whether Ariel is, in fact, Hedda’s next incarnation. For a year after I adopted her, I wondered if I missed some signs, or if I didn’t wait long enough. That said, my understanding is that animals have more fluid energy fields than humans, and there may well be aspects of Hedda in Ariel, even if she’s not the exact same soul.

Below are some of the things I found helpful both during my search and while acclimating to a new feline presence.

When You’re Adopting After a Loss

• Take your time, and go at your own pace. Some people want to adopt a new companion right away; others prefer to wait a bit. Neither choice is better than the other. Don’t let others pressure you into following a timeline that doesn’t feel right.
  

• Open your heart again. Some people worry that they’re betraying their late pet by adopting. Love doesn’t die. It multiplies. If anything, your previous friend would like to see you happy and giving a good home to a fellow being.
  

• Allow yourself to feel what you feel. Regardless of how long it’s been since your previous pet’s death, adopting is likely to bring up a wave of grief. Adopting a new friend means admitting that the previous one isn’t coming back. This took me by surprise—after all, it had been 19 months since Hedda’s death.
  

• There might not be a lightning-bolt moment. In my case, the certainty never came. I just knew that if I didn’t adopt this particular kitten, I would always wonder whether I should have. And I’m glad I did.
  

• Be curious. The new animal will likely have different traits than you’re used to, and while this can bring up grief, it can also be a wonderful opportunity for discovering the awe and mystery of life.
  

• Bonding takes time. Even if you feel an immediate connection, as I did with Hedda, bonds develop through shared experiences. You aren’t likely to immediately feel the same depth of bond with a new pet as you did with the previous one. As much as I loved Ariel from the get-go, it took a good few years for us to really develop a deep bond.

What was it like for you, adopting a new companion after a forever pet’s death? What did you find helpful or surprising? Share your experience in the comments.

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

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For several days after the vet gently stopped my 20-year-old cat Hedda's heart in 2016, I couldn’t get past the feeling that Hedda didn't want to die, or at least, she wanted it to happen in her own time, naturally.

I had been one of those people who was adamant that I would not choose euthanasia unless I believed Hedda felt death would be preferable. I didn’t believe her life was mine to end.

Nobody would likely look at a photo of Hedda, compared to her prime, and say it was too soon. But all I cared about was whether she felt it was too soon. 

I felt like I betrayed her trust.

I’ve heard people say that, in this situation, we choose the path that will give us the least cause for regret. No regret is usually not an option. Except for those instances where an animal is in acute distress and nothing can be done, the timing for euthanasia is rarely clear-cut. It’s also largely influenced by our personal beliefs, and our resources.

During our last 24 hours together, I vowed that if there were any negative karmic repercussions from my decision, that I bore them wholly (I also really, really hoped there weren’t).

How Guilt Tries to Protect Us

Guilt is the mind’s resistance to what is, a futile attempt to change the past. In the context of euthanasia, guilt prevents us from feeling the full pain of having to say goodbye to a being we love. In a roundabout way, our mind tries to protect our heart by creating thoughts of guilt: “I should have…” “I shouldn’t have…” “I gave up too soon,” “I waited too long,” etc. Those thoughts—the mind’s incessant activity—keep painful emotions stuck in our bodies.

The thing is, guilt doesn’t change anything. It simply makes us feel miserable. And guilt compounds the grief, because as long as the mind is whirring, the heart can’t process its pain.

After Hedda’s death, I wanted to know that she forgave me. Because that wasn’t an option, I was the one who had to forgive myself. 

Guilt and Inquiry

In the midst of all my inner turmoil, I came back to what I’d been practicing for several years. Guilt is simply a thought—the thought that I should have done something differently. So I decided to examine that thought.

The following is loosely based on The Work by Byron Katie, combined with questions a good therapist would’ve asked me. For each of us, the answers may vary. My answers don’t indicate what your answers “should” be—they’re what came up for me. The questions, though, can give you insight into how your thoughts of guilt may be trying to protect you.

Is it true that I should have done something differently? I don't know. Let's say "yes," just for the purposes of this exercise. Let's say I believe I absolutely should not have deliberately facilitated Hedda's death.

Can I be absolutely certain that that thought is true? No, of course not.

Can I see a way the opposite statement might be equally or more true (i.e., that I absolutely should have ended her life)? Well, yes, but then there’s a story behind that, which is that if that was true, then maybe she had been suffering for a while, so I still wasn’t off the hook.

What if this was absolutely the perfect timing, and I didn’t do anything wrong. Could I see that as a true statement? Yes. [Huge energy shift here]

If I didn't use up energy believing this thought, what would I have to feel? Pain, loss, grief, emptiness. It’s much easier to distract myself with thoughts.

If I didn't believe the thought “I shouldn't have had her euthanized,” what would I feel? Relaxed, calm, expansive. Appreciative of her love and our time together.

This series of questions helped to release me from shackles of guilt. Not entirely, but substantially. I came to see that “guilt” was just a way of distracting myself from feeling the pain and sadness, the silence (SO MUCH silence), the ache in my chest. Guilt also prevented me from appreciating the mystery of life, of love, and of death.

I don’t mean to sound like “and everything was sunshine forever more.” It wasn’t. I still missed Hedda’s physical presence—even more than when I’d been distracting myself with guilt thoughts. Yet once I was able to feel the waves of grief directly, unencumbered by guilt, I found that each wave dissipated more quickly.

Finding Self-forgiveness

Letting go of guilt doesn’t mean the love is gone, or we miss our cat any less. It simply frees us to experience what we’re feeling in the moment instead of trying to change the past.

There’s a popular quote, attributed to multiple people, from Lily Tomlin to Jack Kornfield, that says, “Forgiveness is giving up hope of a better past.” We all do the best we can, with the resources we have, in each moment. A friend of mine, when thinking about the euthanasia of her cats, turns to another quote, from Jeff Foster, “Simply let go of the illusion that it could have been any different.”

If you can’t stop the torrent of thoughts, that’s okay, too. Try to show yourself the same compassion you’ve shown your cats. Grief (and guilt) are painful enough without adding an extra layer of feeling bad about feeling bad.

If grief or feelings of guilt are interfering with your day-to-day life, it’s okay to seek professional help. There are growing numbers of pet loss support groups, both in person and online, as well as one-on-one counselling options. You are not alone.

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

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Note from Sarah: I first wrote this in 2021 and am re-sharing it because of the heat currently hovering over the mid-Atlantic, New England, Ontario and Québec. While the original post focused on cats, I’ve tried to include info for other common companion animals, too. I apologize for the Amazon links; I don’t yet have an alternative for non-book products that works for people in all locations.

As the planet heats up and extreme heat waves become more common, many of us are scrambling to find ways to keep our companion animals cool. Heat exhaustion and heat stroke are very real possibilities if pets aren’t monitored carefully during extreme heat. During the Pacific Northwest “heat dome” in 2021, someone told me about a man who posted on Craigslist looking for someone with air conditioning to take in his 150-pound Bull Mastiff for a few days. We will do anything for our animal friends, and it can be difficult when the conditions we and they experience are (say it with me) unprecedented.

How cats and dogs release excess body heat

Cats and dogs have a slightly higher body temperature than humans (101-102F/38.2-39.3C). Because of that, they can tolerate mild increases in heat. In general, though, the animals who keep us company have evolved to exist within the same temperature ranges as humans. And summers are starting to become less comfortable for all of us.

Because cats are covered in fur and can’t sweat, they have limited ways to release heat from their bodies. Cats tend to release heat through their paw pads more than dogs do, but unlike their canine counterparts, cats typically don’t pant. An adult cat who is panting in the heat is already becoming overheated. (The exception to this is during labour and the first days of nursing; in addition, some kittens pant.) Cats are more likely to release heat by staying still in a shaded place, stretching their bodies and drinking more water. Have you ever noticed that your cat seems much, much… longer in hot weather? That’s their way of releasing heat. Dogs, cats, bunnies and other mammals will also sploot, or lie on their stomachs with their back legs stretched out, which keeps heat from being trapped against their bodies.

Preventing overheating—keeping our animal friends as cool as possible—is essential to avoid a trip to the veterinary ER during sweltering heat.

Dogs can take advantage of kiddie pools, garden hoses, sprinklers, puppuccinos, and the other ways that humans can cool off; in addition, they can pant to release excess body heat. The tips below are mostly for cats, because… well, most cats won’t voluntarily enter a pool or sprinkler stream.

If you have AC, that’s awesome, and that should give you a little peace of mind when it comes to your pet. In the Pacific Northwest, we haven’t historically had sustained temperatures above 90F/30C, and most residential buildings (including mine) don’t have AC. The tips below only require a fan, a fridge freezer and running water.

1. Water, water everywhere!

Keep water bowls filled with cool, clean water in multiple locations. In the wild, warm or stagnant water is a likely source of bacteria, so animals have evolved to be wary of warm or dirty water. Check and freshen water bowls more frequently than usual, and drop in some ice cubes to make the water both more appealing and more effective at cooling your pet.

A water fountain can also help your cat, dog or bunny stay hydrated by making water more visually inviting. This is one of the most popular cat fountains on Amazon. Fountains don’t necessarily keep the water cool, only flowing. As with water bowls, consider dropping some ice cubes in the bowl (not the reservoir) to make the water even more tempting.

2. Pet them with a damp washcloth—very gently

This is the feline version of the sprinkler, and admittedly, this tip won’t work for all cats (but dogs will probably love it). Soak a washcloth in cold water, then wring it out thoroughly, so it’s only just barely damp. Lightly pet or massage your cat or dog’s back—or, if they’ll let you, their stomach and ears—with the damp washcloth. If you can do this in front of a fan, even better.

They probably won’t be able to feel the water, but the sensation of air going over the washcloth, and their slightly damp fur, provides a cooling effect. (Pro tip: This works great for humans, too!) If at any point your animal friend shows signs of being upset—airplane ears, fast-moving tail or growls—stop immediately.

By the second day of the 2021 heat dome, Ariel began coming to me and “asking” to be wiped down (she would rub her face against the damp washcloth). I was even able to rub her belly, legs and ears with it. As with human and dog ears, cat ears are densely packed with blood vessels, so cooling the ears helps cooler blood to flow through their body.

Bonus: The washcloth trick works really well for humans, too, and you don’t have to wring it out quite as much. Place a damp washcloth or small towel over your body while you’re lying in front of a fan. It works!

3. Your freezer is your best friend (along with your cat or dog)

You can take the washcloth trick to the next level by freezing each one. Soak and wring out a number of washcloths, then put them in the freezer. Use parchment to separate the stack; otherwise, the frozen towels will stick together. When the washcloths are frozen, take one out and place it gently on your cat’s back. Again, if the cat resists, stop immediately. If they seem to like it, gently rub the washcloth wherever they’ll let you. On cats, the back upper portion of the hind legs is particularly dense with longer fur. Anecdotally, Ariel really seemed to like being cooled off back there.

Your freezer can also provide your cat, dog or bunny with some cooler air in their bed. Take a small water bottle and fill it three-quarters of the way (water expands as it freezes, so don’t fill it to the top!). Leave the bottle in the freezer until it’s frozen solid, then place it inside your cat’s bed. As ice evaporates in hot air, it creates a small “halo” of cooler air. Ideally, the bottle will be a couple of inches from the cat—far enough that they aren’t forced into contact with it, yet close enough to radiate a cool ‘halo.’ This ‘evaporative cooling’ is the same principle that ‘swamp coolers’ work on.

4. Place flat ice packs under wet food

Many behaviourists recommend only leaving wet food out for 20 minutes, and I understand the logic of that. However, Ariel rarely eats more than a few bites at a time, so I tend to leave her food out for longer. During the heat dome, I placed a large, flat ice pack (similar to this one) under her wet food dish. This is how automatic wet-food feeders work, too, by including mini ice packs. Even an hour later, the ice pack (and food dish) were still quite cold to the touch.

The smaller, thicker ice packs don’t work, in my experience. They expand and become curved in the freezer—but they’re great for putting behind your neck to keep YOU cool!

For both the frozen bottle above and ice packs, you can wrap the frozen item in Solarize fabric. This is a fabric designed for temperature control; place the shiny side towards the bottle to keep it cold. Bonus: In winter, you can place the fabric shiny side up in their bed for added warmth. Your cat’s body heat will be reflected by the fabric.

5. Indulge your cat’s sink habits

Raise your hand if you have a ‘sink cat.’ *Raises hand* Cats are drawn to sinks not only because of the secure recess that keeps them slightly hidden from view, but also because porcelain retains its coolness regardless of external heat. Plus, water.

Let your bathtub or sink drip cool water. This isn’t something you want to do all the time (unless you do), because your water bill will add up, and it’s bad for the environment. But during heat waves, dripping water can be a literal lifesaver for your pet. Keeping your animal friends hydrated in severe heat is really, really important, and—as you know—cats love dripping water. Dogs might, too; I’m not sure.

Make sure to clean your sink thoroughly with cat-safe products. I’m far from a ‘clean freak,’ but I go overboard when it comes to Ariel’s health: I use baking soda and vinegar, then I rinse it half a dozen times with water to make sure I’ve removed all possible residue (think: toothpaste, moisturizer, etc) that could transfer onto Ariel’s fur. Through grooming, your cat will eventually ingest whatever was in the sink. Better not to have any residue that will get on their fur in the first place.

6. Ice, ice, baby!

I’ve mentioned ice cubes throughout, because, well, they’re cold, versatile, portable, and pretty easy to make, even for me.

This is one of the most common pieces of advice for keeping animals cool—probably because it works so well! As I mentioned above, place ice cubes in each water dish to keep the water icy fresh. If you have hardwood or laminate floors, try using an ice cube as a toy—send it flying across the room, within your cat’s line of vision, or toss it like a tennis ball for your dog to retrieve. Many animals will begin to play with the cube or lick it. If you have carpeted floors, try doing the same in your bathtub, and let your cat ‘chase’ the cubes.

Make sure the water is filtered and doesn’t have freezer smells (I learned this the hard way). You can buy covered ice cube trays at your local kitchenware store. These are the ones I use.

Bonus: Keep on brushing

Oh, cat hair. It gets everywhere, doesn’t it? Cats have roughly 40 million strands of fur at any given time—no wonder their body temperature is higher than ours! They shed several hundred to thousand strands of fur per day (I’d swear I read 6,000, but now I can’t find the source for that). During heat waves, brush them frequently to remove as much loose hair as possible. Loose hair traps heat; less loose hair equals a cooler cat. In addition to helping your cat stay cool, you’ll be helping their circulation and deepening their bond with you.

Domestic animals rely on us for their well-being. They’re no better equipped to handle extreme heat than we humans are (and arguably, they’re more poorly equipped, with all that fur). By taking a few small, inexpensive steps to help them stay cool, you’re promoting their health—and that, in turn, promotes your well-being.

Have you tried these tips, or others? Leave a comment letting us know how you keep your pets cool during extreme heat events. And if you’ve found this post helpful, please share it with your social networks.

One more purr…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

• Give P.S. I Love You More Than Tuna to a friend, family member or colleague who is grieving an animal friend.

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In our culture, there are no rituals around pet loss. Nobody schedules dinner delivery or comes to sit shiva with you. Every one of us has a unique bond with our animal friends, so grief will vary even within a family. Because of all this, it can be difficult to know how to support a friend, family member or colleague grieving the loss of a pet.

Pet loss grief is valid and real. Even if someone’s grief looks different from what you think it "should" look like—it's their loss, and their grief.

Here are six ways to comfort a friend who is grieving an animal—for Father’s Day, or year-round:

1. Don't minimize the loss. Companion animals, like humans, are not interchangeable. They are sentient beings with whom we share this planet. Each one has unique traits, and each relationship is unique. You'd never walk up to someone who just lost a sibling say, "Well, you can just get another brother." Cats, dogs, horses, rabbits, ferrets and more are family members, and each one is irreplaceable. Saying "It's just a cat" not only shows ignorance of sentient beings; it's also a fast way to create a permanent chasm between you and your grieving friend.
   

2.  Allow their grief, which may be different than yours. She may not cry in front of others. He may withdraw and need lots of time to himself. They may want to talk about it all the time, or not at all. Some people can't tolerate seeing reminders of their companion around the house, and so they get rid of the beds, scratching posts, ramps, etc. Others leave the food bowls out for a year or more. There is no one right way to grieve, and none of us can judge another person's emotional process.
   

3. Offer the type of support they need. There are different types of social support, and what we need varies, depending on circumstances and each individual's personality. Nearly all of us need emotional support when we're grieving (empathy and nurturing). Some people may benefit from practical assistance—bringing them dinner, driving them to pick up their animal’s ashes, or making an urn. There's also informational support (sharing of objective information—not to be confused with giving advice) which may be desired (or not) when someone is dealing with a pet’s severe illness. Sharing your own experience can be helpful, but be careful to keep the focus on your friend and her needs. Avoid giving advice unless it's specifically requested.
   

4. Share pet loss resources. Since I first wrote this article in 2018, a number of pet loss grief resources have emerged. Consider sharing Beth Bigler’s IG account, Honoring Our Animals, where she offers wisdom and a monthly group for pet loss grievers. Or send a link to Best Friends Animal Society’s Angels Rest. For those grieving the loss of a doggo, share my interview on Dog Words (still one of my all-time favourites). And, of course, you can always give them P.S. I Love You More Than Tuna, for all species.
   

5. Honor the animal’s memory. Make a donation to a rescue in the memory of a friend’s beloved pet. Make a video, an urn (with permission), artwork or a scrapbook. Show the bereaved that you understand the depth of their loss.
   

6. Respect the person's spiritual beliefs (or lack thereof). Whether you think the animal is waiting for her human at the Rainbow Bridge, or has become a part of all living things; whether you believe he will reincarnate in another form, or is simply gone for good—none of that is relevant. What does matter is what the grieving individual believes. This is not the time to debate whether or not one belief system is right and another wrong.
   

7.  Reflect back to the person how much they loved and cared for the animal. This may sound simple, but it might be the most important item on this list. Because so much of our relationship with pets happens away from other humans, it can feel like nobody understands the depth of our grief, or just how much we loved them, or the sacrifices we may have made. By simply witnessing the depth of their love, their loss and their grief, you are giving them the gift of being seen.
   

8. Focus on their loss, not your own. While it’s tempting to say “I know what you’re going through,” the truth is, that phrase is more for our own comfort than the other person’s—we want to feel like we’re being helpful; our ego wats to believe that we’re making a diffeerence. On top of that, sometimes it’s difficult to witness another’s grief, and we might say those things as a way to our own feelings of discomfort. Yet each bond is unique. Try to avoid talking (too much) about your own losses, and focus on your friend’s.

Nothing can take away someone else's grief, and it’s not something that needs to be "fixed." Grieving is a natural process, a part of healing and moving forward into a life that's a bit different now.

BARK!fest panel on loving and losing a pet

Another way to support a friend grieving the loss of a dog, cat, horse, bunny, or other animal is to share with them this BARK!fest panel on loving and losing a pet, which is now available on YouTube. Hosted by Zazie Todd, PhD, creator of Companion Animal Psychology and moderated by dog trainer and northern anthropologist Kristi Benson. Here’s what you or your friend(s) will find:

Loving pets means thinking of them both in life and after their loss. In the poignant and personal Good Grief: On Loving Pets, Here and Hereafter, E.B. Bartels takes us on a global tour of how we love and mourn our pets. Sarah Bowen shares her deep insights on the lives and loss of all animals—pets and wildlife—in Sacred Sendoffs: An Animal Chaplain’s Advice for Surviving Animal Loss, Making Life Meaningful, and Trying to Heal the Planet. And Karen Fine DVM’s heartwarming memoir about becoming a veterinarian, The Other Family Doctor: A Veterinarian Explores What Animals Can Teach Us About Love, Life, and Mortality, is full of tales about what we can learn from the animals in our lives.

The conversation includes these highlights:

• The way that grief for a lost pet is often disenfranchised

• What an animal chaplain is and why Sarah Bowen wrote her book Sacred Sendoffs

• Blending science with spirituality, and practical tips to help when someone loses a pet

• What it's like being a veterinarian, how Dr. Karen Fine was influenced by her grandfather, and why she wrote The Other Family Doctor

• The value of making home visits as a veterinarian, and helping other pets cope when one of their fellow pets has passed

• Why E.B. Bartels wrote her book Good Grief and what she learned about how people memorialize their pets, including taxidermy and mummification

• Plus each author reads from their book

If you haven’t already read Dr. Fine’s The Other Family Doctor, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

• Give P.S. I Love You More Than Tuna to a friend, family member or colleague who is grieving an animal friend.

• Subscribe to this Substack, if you don’t already

• Upgrade to a paid subscription (bonus: you’ll be supporting a Canadian 🇨🇦!)

• Click or tap the heart icon to like this post

• Share this post by ‘restacking’ (use the ‘quote’ function to say what helped you the most about this post)

• Leave a review wherever you purchase the book

• Forward this email to a friend or share the link on social media
  

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Welcome, new subscribers! After all these years, I still don’t know what to say, because you likely found me after a devastating loss—and I understand how painful that is. I’m grateful that you found your way to this newsletter, and I hope you find comfort in the articles on this site.

Although P.S. I Love You More Than Tuna is about celebrating the life and bond we shared with a particular cat (or dog, or hedgie), it’s also about paying attention to those moments as they happen. Those moments—whether funny, frustrating or snuggly—become the memories we cherish for the rest of our lives.

As I often say, we can’t extend our animal friends’ lives, but we can deepen our bond with them, making the time together all that more valuable.

BARK!fest panel on the human-cat bond

Last fall, I was honoured to be invited to join host Zazie Todd for her BARK!fest panel on Our Bond with Cats. If you’re not familiar with Zazie’s work, she has a Ph.D. in animal psychology and writes the amazing blog Companion Animal Psychology. She’s the author of three books (so far): Wag: The Science of Making Your Dog Happy; Purr: The Science of Making Your Cat Happy; and Bark! The Science of Helping Your Anxious, Fearful or Reactive Dog. (I’m hoping her next one will be called Spice!—a feline version of Bark! 😸)

The other panelists included CTC dog trainer Kristi Benson, author and animal writer Sassafras Patterdale, and UK novelist Rachel Wells.

You can watch the full video at the very bottom of this post. Here’s a quick audio preview:

Remember grieving cat and dog* moms on Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is next weekend, and as always, it’s a poignant time for women who have had to say goodbye to a feline over the last year, or even the last few years.

Although pet loss grief has become slightly more discussed in the past eight years (since I began More Than Tuna on social media), it’s still a very solitary and often isolating experience. Even within a human family system, each individual has a different relationship with a given animal. The loss leaves a profound gap, and friends often don’t know what to say. That’s where P.S. I Love You More Than Tuna comes in.

Tuna is designed to be given as an empathy gift—an elevated version of a sympathy card— and those who have received it after losing an animal family member have commented on how much they cherished not only the book, but the kindness of friends who understood the depth of their grief. Many of you reading found this newsletter after receiving the book as a gift; my hope is that you will continue to ‘pay it forward’.

If your local bookseller doesn’t stock Tuna, you can ask them to order copies for you. Here are some links to other places where you can purchase the book:

Sounds True (publisher, US)
Love and Above Cat Club (US small business 🏳️‍🌈)
Barnes & Noble (US)
Bookshop (US) - on backorder
Amazon (US)
Chapters Indigo (Canada)
Amazon Canada

*Tuna has been given to humans grieving cats, dogs, birds, horses, bunnies, fish, hedgehogs and turtles… the list continues to grow.

One more meow…

Thank you for reading this edition of the More Than Tuna newsletter. I understand you’re probably swamped with emails, and that makes it all the more meaningful that you took the time to read this. If you found this post helpful, here are four simple ways to support Tuna and this Substack:

• Subscribe to this Substack, if you don’t already

• Upgrade to a paid subscription (bonus: you’ll be supporting a Canadian 🇨🇦!)

• Click or tap the heart icon to like this post

• Share this post by ‘restacking’ (use the ‘quote’ function to say what helped you the most about this post)

• Leave a review wherever you purchase the book

• Forward this email to a friend or share the link on social media
  

  Share

Watch “Our Bond with Cats” Below

Hi friends!

Tomorrow is the day for cats at BARK!fest 😻🐾 Zazie will interview each of us separately, and you’ll have a chance to ask all of us questions.

The way I see it, we can’t lengthen our cats’ lives (too much), but there’s another dimension we can explore: depth. Our fondest moments will one day become fond memories, so join us and learn how to make the most of each moment with your cat. (You can also watch my video about how to deepen your bond below)

This is a webinar-style panel, so you won’t be on camera. Feel free to show up in your PJs, grab a coffee or tea, and curl up (with or without a cat) under a warm blanket.

If you can’t make it live, no worries—the replay will be sent out within three days, and you can watch it at your own convenience.

The Grief Panel

If you’re looking for a panel that discusses pet loss grief, there’s one next Tuesday, September 24 at 10am Pacific, 1pm Eastern and 6pm UK time.

I’m not on that panel, but you’ll be in good hands with Karen Fine, DVM (and if you haven’t yet read The Other Family Doctor, put it on your reading list for this fall), E.B. Bartels and Rev. Sarah A. Bowen.

As with my panel, you’ll be able to ask each of these authors questions.

Hope to see you there!

Warmly,
Sarah

Labo(u)r Day is barely over, and already the weather in the Northern Hemisphere is shifting downward. I don’t know about all of you, but I’m ready for autumn! It’s almost the season to curl up with mulled cider and a good book.. or 23.

BARK!fest Book Festival for Animal Lovers

Zazie Todd, Ph.D. is an animal behaviourist as well as the author of Purr: The Science of Making Your Cat Happy and Wag: The Science of Making Your Dog Happy; she also writes the acclaimed blog Companion Animal Psychology.

As she gears up for the October 1 release of her third book, Bark: The Science of Helping Your Anxious, Fearful or Reactive Dog, Zazie has assembled an amazing collection of animal-themed books and their authors to interview throughout the month of September. All events are free on Zoom, and advance registration is required.

Here’s the list of authors and events for BARK!fest

Each event is set around a theme (for example, pet loss grief) and features authors in conversation with Zazie or behaviourist Kristi Benson, CTC.

The Grief Panel and My Panel

1. Yes, there is a pet loss grief panel, with Karen Fine, DVM (The Other Family Doctor), E.B. Bartels (Good Grief) and animal chaplain Rev. Sarah Bowen (Sacred Sendoffs). The panel is on Tuesday, September 24 at 10am Pacific / 1pm Eastern / 6pm UK/Europe. You can register here.

2. I’ll be on the panel about the human-cat bond, on Friday, September 20 at 10am Pacific / 1pm Eastern / 6pm UK. My fellow authors are Sassafras (Lowrey) Patterdale (Claw This Journal) and Rachel Wells (the Alfie series). You can register for this one here. I’m looking forward to talking about this, because at its heart, Tuna is a celebration of the human-animal bond.

If you’re relatively new to this mailing list, here are a couple of articles I’ve written about the human-cat bond:

• A Cat By Any Other Name (Lion’s Roar)

• My Cat’s Death Broke My Brain (Modern Loss)

If you’re a dog person, you might like my interview on the Dog Words podcast

A panel about trauma and healing

One of the things that makes grieving the loss of a pet so difficult is that, for many of us, animals help us heal from trauma (and/or help us survive it). In my case, for example, horses, dogs and cats were my best friends during an emotionally traumatic childhood; my late cat Hedda—who inspired Tuna—was the first being that I trusted truly loved me.

Patricia B. McConnell, Ph.D. is a brilliant animal behaviorist, trainer and author. I listened to the audiobook of For the Love of a Dog: Understanding Emotion in You and Your Best Friend over and over during my ‘forest’ years, and I recommend her books to many of my editing clients as examples of narrative-driven nonfiction.

She and Zazie will be in conversation about dogs and healing from trauma (the subject of McConnell’s memoir The Education of Will), and I’m very much looking forward to that one (Monday, September 16 at 11am Pacific / 2pm Eastern / 7pm UK). You can register here.

An advance interview…with me

In advance of the festival, Companion Animal Psychology is sharing interviews with the authors involved, and you can read mine here. I delve into the origins and themes of Tuna, as well as my writing process (such as it was).

I hope you’ll join BARK!fest throughout September, as your schedule allows. Please remember to sign up in advance for each panel. Here’s the full schedule again.

I hope to see you there! In the meantime, please tell your cats, dogs, horses, ferrets, birds, bunnies, hedgies and alpacas that I said hi 🥰

As painful as it is, grief is a universal human experience. There isn’t a person on the planet who has not, or will not, experience the loss of a beloved family member. Our culture ranks humans above animals, and therefore, grieving the loss of an animal friend is often not recognized for the painful experience it is. This disenfranchisement can leave people feeling isolated and misunderstood—which compounds the grief.

In interacting with thousands of people who are grieving the loss of their pet, I often say, “Be gentle with yourself.” This is a shorthand for allowing the experience you’re having and being kind to yourself. Below are five examples of what “being gentle” can look like. If these work for you, great. If not, consider what practices might help you feel gentle towards yourself. 

Show Yourself Compassion

Your grief is valid, whatever form it takes, and regardless of whether other people recognize it or not. Self-compassion means treating yourself as gently and kindly as you would a close friend. We’re often so much harder on ourselves than we are anyone else, and we berate ourselves (especially if we feel guilt over the animal’s death). If you don’t know where to start, try this: Picture your grief as a baby (or kitten, or puppy) wrapped in a blanket. Feel the feelings of tenderness that arise. Or do an exercise recommended by Kristin Neff, Ph.D.: Write yourself a letter from a place of compassion and kindness. Write the words you need to hear. Self-compassion helps to create an essential space around grief. Grief has its own timetable. It can’t be rushed, and it won’t be pushed away. 

Allow Whatever You’re Feeling

Grief is the natural response to loss. It’s the heart’s way of acknowledging the love we feel (as a popular meme says: “Grief is love with no place to go.”) Yet often we try to avoid what we’re feeling, because it’s uncomfortable. The mind jumps in and starts distracting us with thoughts of how things should have been—this is the mind’s way of trying to protect the heart. Grief wants to be felt. The more we try to avoid feeling grief, the more entrenched it will become. Allow yourself to feel sadness or anger or whatever comes up. You might cry all the time or not at all. You might feel rage. Or something else entirely. When we can feel emotions directly, they move through our body so much more quickly. And if you can’t stop the thoughts, allow those, too.

Spend Time in Nature

There are endless benefits to spending time in nature. Especially in untouched nature (like a forest), its beauty can inspire awe. This is particularly helpful if you can’t stop thinking about the loss: Awe has a magical power to cut through rumination. Forests are sensory havens, too—take time to smell the air, touch the trees and feel the earth beneath your feet. It’s not that nature will take away your sadness, but it can give you a respite.

Walk

If you can walk in nature, all the better. The point is to get your body moving, gently. In grief, it’s natural to want to stay home, or even in bed, and not move. In addition to its general health benefits, walking helps emotions move through the body. I find it a great equalizer: If I’m feeling angry or distressed, walking calms me down. If I’m feeling lethargic, it brings my energy level back up. One thing I do find regularly, though: I have to walk for at least 30 minutes before I feel the benefit. Walking can be done in conjunction with…

Take in the Good

This is a phrase from Buddhist psychologist Rick Hanson, Ph.D. It means: In the midst of all the painful manifestations of grief—guilt, sadness, anger, despair—also look for what’s good. This isn’t about pushing away any of the uncomfortable feelings. Just open yourself to notice a budding flower, or a painted mural, someone being kind to another person—whatever “the good” means to you. Being human means experiencing pain, joy and the full range of emotions. When we’re feeling a lot of pain, it’s hard to remember that we also have the capacity to feel joy. “Taking in the good” may not make you feel joyful—that’s not its purpose—but it’s a reminder that there is good in the world.

Volunteer with a Rescue

Like all the items on this list, volunteering has a whole host of benefits for everyone. When you’re grieving, though, it’s so easy to isolate—and often it’s hard to find people who understand the depth of your grief. Volunteering with an animal rescue not only gives you much-needed contact with animals, but also contact with people who understand what it means to grieve an animal friend. And, of course, it benefits the animals. Whatever your skill set—from marketing to fostering to event planning to knitting blankets—rescues can use your time, talent and heart.

Grieving is painful and difficult, and it often lasts much, much longer than we expect. Most of us are more comfortable when our lives are comfortable and predictable, and grief disrupts all that. But the more we can allow ourselves the space to grieve, to feel the feelings fully, the more we’ll be able to process grief in a healthy way. It still takes time. It still might reshape your life entirely. It still hurts. But the acute phase of grief usually doesn’t last forever.

If you’ve experienced the loss of a pet, what self-care techniques helped you through it? Please share your experience in the comments.

This post originally appeared on The Conscious Cat

The loss of a pet is heartbreaking for any human, but many are blindsided by the depth and intensity of grief they feel. You’re grieving not only a being, but also a relationship that was unique to you. In addition, pets often live with people through entire chapters of their lives. The animal’s death marks the end of an era in the human’s life.

No two people grieve alike, because no two people are alike. In addition, each person’s relationship with each pet is different. So when it comes to grief, there is no such thing as “normal.” With that very large caveat, this post is about what many bereaved guardians experience.

Not everyone will understand, especially those who have never lost an animal companion. Well-meaning people may say things that hurt. Seek out those who do understand, either in person or online.

Grief is a full-body experience. Even if you think you’re prepared, you may experience brain fog for a while and have trouble thinking or focusing. Some people want to sleep all the time; others have insomnia. You may feel anger, sadness, guilt, or numb.

Adjusting to a New Routine

When a pet dies, especially one that has been sick for a long time, it takes time to adjust to a routine without meds or sub-qs or trips to the vet. Even with animals who passed suddenly, you may find yourself waking up at 6am (or 3am). When there’s no animal, or one less, to feed, it can bring up waves of grief.

One of the most surprising grief triggers is the silence, especially if your household only had one or two animal friends. It’s cliche, but the silence can truly be deafening; it can be hard to hear anything other than the absence of paws or nails on the floor.

In a multi-animal household, other pets may become needy or withdrawn—or they may show no signs of noticing their sibling’s absence. They may stop eating, gobble up all the food, or continue as though nothing has changed. 

Visitations

This can be the most comforting or the most disconcerting aspect of grieving an animal friend. You may hear their paws on the floor, a chirp from the other room, or swear that you’d glimpsed them out of the corner of your eye. You might feel them jump onto the bed, or even feel their leg on your arm or back. Many, many people who have lost an animal report these experiences. It’s up to each of us to interpret what they mean. Some people find comfort in these “visits,” while others find them disturbing and a grief trigger.

At night, you may dream about your friend. Some people have reported nightmares in the first few months, especially after an animal has died a traumatic death. Many report neutral or happier dreams, in which their companion is healthy again. These can be gifts, yet they can also be bittersweet upon awakening.

Picking Up the Ashes

If you choose cremation, picking up the ashes can be a major grief trigger, especially for those who weren’t present for the cremation. It means that the body is physically gone and will never return in that particular form—and holding the evidence in your hands can be extremely painful. Pet loss counselors (and compassionate veterinarians) suggest that guardians not pick up ashes by themselves. Bring someone with you for support. (On the flip side, many people also report feeling a sense of comfort once their friend is “home” again.)

Feelings of Guilt

Feeling guilt is a nearly universal aspect of grieving a pet, in a way that it usually isn’t when we’re grieving a human. That’s because we are often the ones who choose when a domestic animal dies—and if we’re not, we wonder if there’s something we could have done differently (and some of us experience guilt over both these things at once). These feelings are extremely painful and can multiply grief exponentially. Holding onto guilt can be extremely detrimental to emotional health and moving through grief.

Grief Comes in Waves

Grief is nonlinear. For most people, guilt comes in waves. At first, it may feel like you’re in the middle of a storm, and the waves are almost constant, with few respites. Over time, most people find that they are able to continue with daily tasks as they integrate their loss into their ongoing lives. The waves still come, but—with occasional exceptions, like anniversaries—they are often less frequent and less intense. Memories begin to bring smiles more often than tears. The time frame for this varies for each person.

When to Seek Help

Even if you’re experiencing “typical grief,” it is always okay to seek professional help. However, there are two circumstances in which professional help is essential.

Coping with Bereavement Overload

All of the above is written for those grieving a single animal. However, some people experience two or more losses at the same time, or in a short time period. Multiple simultaneous or sequential losses can lead to “bereavement overload,” a state in which a person is still processing one loss when the next one hits.  This can make it exponentially more difficult to process any of the losses. If you’re experiencing bereavement overload, it’s a good idea to reach out for professional support. The Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement has a comprehensive list of resources, including counselors.

When Grief Doesn’t Get Better

For most people, grief becomes less intense over time, and they are able to function day to day. They will still have waves of sadness, but over time, the good days outnumber the bad.

For a few unlucky souls, though, the intensity of the initial grief remains for months, or even years. The respite between the waves never comes, and they can’t stop thinking about their pet, or what might have been. This is called “complicated grief,” and it’s a serious psychological issue. People experiencing complicated grief have trouble completing daily tasks like showering or going to work. Risk factors for complicated grief include childhood trauma, a history of severe depression and/or anxiety, and a lack of social support, among other factors. Unlike “typical grief,” complicated grief is a serious issue that requires professional help. 

Grief is not about “getting over” a loss; it’s about accepting that the loss happened and being able to move forward in our own lives. Any loss will always be part of your life experience, just as the animal (or person, for that matter) will always have been significant to you. Love doesn’t die. I recommend following Beth Bigler (@honoringouranimals) on Instagram for frequent reminders of this and many other self-care pet loss tips.

This is why, if at all possible, it helps to take time to let your emotions catch up before an animal friend’s death, and why end-of-life rituals are helpful. However, those are not always possible—sudden or unexpected loss makes grieving a pet so much harder. Be gentle with yourself.

Share what you wish you’d known about grieving a pet in the comments.

This post originally appeared on The Conscious Cat

This is a full-length article I pitched to and wrote for The Boston Globe in 2018. When I turned it in, the editor decided it wasn't what he was looking for, so it wasn’t published. On the upside (for me), this reported article won an honorable mention in a Writers Digest contest (before I began writing for them).

It seems to me that we’ve made some progress on this front, but there’s far more to understand and accept about the complexity of pet loss grief.

###

Sixty-eight percent of American households include at least one pet, and we’re on pace to spend an estimated $72.13 billion dollars on their care this year^[1]. Over the past two decades, as Americans have been getting married later, if at all^[2], pet ownership has increased dramatically, and spending on our companion animals has tripled^[3]. Yet the feline and canine lifespans are considerably shorter than humans (if you want your pet to outlive you, perhaps consider a cockatoo, with a lifespan of 50 to 70 years^[4]), which means that every year, millions of people must say a final farewell to their pet.

The pet deathcare industry is booming—the Pet Loss Professionals Alliance estimates there were 1.9 million pet funerals across the United States and Canada in 2012^[5]— yet anyone who has ever grieved a furry, feathered, finned or fanged companion has heard some variation on “Aren’t you over it yet?” or “You can just get another one.”

This cultural attitude is reflected in the language we use to talk about animals. Even the phrase “pet owner” evokes a replaceable object, not unlike a furry vase. But for 95% of us pets are, if not our children, then at least members of the family^[6].

Exploring the Human-Animal Bond

The idea of “pet parents” may make some people roll their eyes, but there’s science behind it. “It’s almost like a child-caregiver role,” says Kristyn Vitale, PhD, a researcher on the human-animal bond at Oregon State University. Her research has shown that dogs and cats not only have analogous attachment styles to humans, but also “it seems that they're using their owner in a similar fashion to how a child would use their caretaker.”

Attachment is not the same as love. Love is an emotion, and because it’s so subjective, it isn’t easily quantifiable. Attachment, however, can be measured by actions, Vitale says—like an animal seeking proximity to a given person, or going to them for safety when frightened.

Our bonds with animals are profound, too, because they offer something humans cannot. “For the most part, our pets don't bring a whole lot of baggage,” says Eric Richman, LICSW, Social Worker for the Small and Large Animal Hospital at Cummings Veterinary Medical Center at Tufts University. “They bring out so much kindness in most people that it's just something I think we long for, we yearn for that attachment, that love.”

Why We Grieve Animals

When a pet dies, a person grieves not only the animal, but also the unique relationship they had with them. Karen Fine, DVM, a veterinarian in Shrewsbury, says that some people grieve pets more than humans. “Part of the love is you have such a close relationship,” she explains, “Whereas you can have a family member in another state you’re very close to, but you don’t necessarily think about them every day.”

Like love, grief is an emotion that’s difficult to quantify. But this isn’t about whether losing a pet is equally or more or less painful than grieving a human. It’s apples and iguanas, so to speak.

When we lose a pet, we’re not just losing an animal with whom we have an emotional bond. We’re losing a member of our household. We’re losing a piece of our daily ritual. Richman explains that we may even lose a piece of our identity (hands up if you know humans at the dog park as “Buckley’s mom”).

Fine sees another loss: “Especially with a cat, I think, because they do live longer than dogs, a lot of times, it’s the end of an era.” We are not the same person we were when that animal entered our lives. We’re older; we may not have the same home, career, or even the same spouse.

Grief is the body’s subjective response to the loss of something we cherish, be that a human, an animal or even a concept, like “mobility.” Yet our culture treats grief as zero-sum (or worse, a competition), as though one person’s grief over their Golden Retriever somehow minimizes the validity of another’s grief over her mother. It doesn’t. Grief, like love, doesn’t compare.

But people do. Nearly everyone who has ever mourned an animal has encountered comments like “it’s just a cat,” or “why don’t you get another one?” This cultural dismissiveness relegates pet loss to a category known as “disenfranchised grief,” a form of grief that isn’t culturally sanctioned or even acknowledged. 

When Grief Isn’t Acknowledged

When a relationship or loss isn’t acknowledged, or is trivialized, Richman says, “People [may] end up really stuck in their grief. They can't go through the process of mourning. They can't find support sometimes.” He emphasizes that support from family and friends “validates what we're feeling, and it gives us comfort to know that people are with us and support us and understand us and have empathy.”

In some cases, Richman says, bereaved pet owners who don’t receive enough support may get stuck in an endless loop of grief, ruminating on the loss. “People [can] really get lost for a long, long time and they're struggling in every aspect of their life. It's hard to see. It's hard to go through and it's hard to see.”

This is known as “complicated grief,” and it’s disruptive enough to warrant its own entry into the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5). Untreated, Richman explains, it can lead to anxiety disorders, major depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Being isolated in grief in and of itself isn’t enough to trigger complicated grief, but it is a significant factor.

Whereas healthy mourners might feel sad (or anxious, or angry) on an anniversary, they’re still able to function in their day-to-day life, and in general, “they’re moving forward,” he explains. For those experiencing complicated grief, however, “Anniversaries and any important event just brings back the intensity and waves of grief as if it happened yesterday.”

If someone is still having trouble functioning after a prolonged period of time, if “somebody is really still empty and thinks life is meaningless,” Richman says, it may be appropriate to suggest the person seek professional help. He points to an increasing number of therapists who specialize in pet loss and grief.

Normalizing Pet Bereavement

In a world where grief over pet loss was normalized, Richman says, “You might see rituals similar to a wake where people get together, close friends. You send out a notice, and close friends, family get together and share memories and photos and experiences they had with that dog or cat, because usually if somebody's a pretty connected person, they have many people in their lives who know that pet.”

Which is exactly what Dr. Fine did when her Lab mix, Remy, died in 2017. Although she set out to help her then nine-year-old son grieve the loss, she found the rituals immensely helpful, too. They wrote an obituary—a practice she has long counseled to bereaved pet owners (Richman also advocates writing) and placed it on a shrine, along with photos sympathy cards. Fine’s mother recited the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer said at funerals, over speakerphone to the family. They also held a celebration of Remy’s life, where human attendees brought their dogs and spoke about Remy—and then all enjoyed species-appropriate ice cream sundaes.

In the absence of culturally sanctioned rituals and pet bereavement leave, creating our own rituals might just be what the heart needs—or at least, one aspect of it. “Rituals reinforce the idea that the grief is real, and that the pain is real,” Fine says. “Ritual provides a framework for moving forward.”

But rituals alone don’t magically alleviate grief. Richman recalls clients who have told him that family members offered condolences immediately following a pet’s death, then disappeared. “When they check in as to why, it's because, ‘Oh, I thought you were over it.’ You probably wouldn't say that if a human family member died.”

Just a reminder: If you know any men who have recently lost an animal friend, please consider giving them P.S. I Love You More Than Tuna for Father’s Day. It’s on sale on Amazon US for $12.

^[1] https://www.iii.org/fact-statistic/facts-statistics-pet-statistics

^[2] http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/09/14/as-u-s-marriage-rate-hovers-at-50-education-gap-in-marital-status-widens/

^[3] http://www.americanpetproducts.org/press_industrytrends.asp

^[4] https://pets.thenest.com/life-span-cockatoos-6199.html

^[5] https://thewalrus.ca/dead-pets-society/

^[6] https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/more-than-ever-pets-are-members-of-the-family-300114501.html

I hope 2024 has been treating all of you and your families (human and furry) well. It’s hard to believe summer is already here!

Women without human children—whether by choice or circumstance—can often feel overlooked on Mothers Day. If you know a woman (or twenty) whose cats are her children, giving her TUNA can help her feel seen. (And isn’t that what we all want, in the end? To feel seen?)

While TUNA is technically a pet-loss book, the story covers the cat’s entire lifespan. I’ve heard from many people who received the book at a time when they weren’t actively grieving a cat; they told me it reminded them to make the most of each moment while their cat was still with them.

And, of course, if you know a woman who has lost a cat during the past year, this would be a meaningful gift.

Amazon US currently has TUNA on sale for $12.99.

On Amazon Canada, the price is $21.99 CAD, a 12% discount.

You can also purchase the book from Bookshop or directly from Sounds True, the publisher.

For those of you with children of all species (or those with none), I hope you have a wonderful summer.

Warmly,
Sarah

p.s. I would feel awkward sending another blatantly sales-y newsletter within a month, so please keep cat dads in mind, too, as Fathers Day comes up!

Few things are scarier than hearing that your beloved cat or dog has an illness that could be terminal. It’s a gut-punch that can leave us reeling. The bonds we share with the animals in our lives are unlike any other; they love us regardless of whether we’re on top of the world or stuck under the covers. I say this often, but animals see the aspects of ourselves that we wouldn’t dare show our closest friends—the ugly cries, the dancing that rivals Elaine from Seinfeld, the off-key belting of show tunes (okay, they might not like the latter very much…)

We’re so immersed in day-to-day life that we often lose perspective. As Joni Mitchell poetically wrote, “We are stardust.”  So are our animal friends. There are central organizing principles to nature, and one of those is that everything that is born eventually dies. Fortunately, we don’t have to think about this fact every moment of every day. When a pet is diagnosed with cancer (or any potentially fatal illness), it’s like falling into a nightmare with a gasp. There’s no more room for denial. The good news is that this can be a gift. Not in the material sense of the word. It’s an opportunity to discover the depth of this life, rather than just the breadth. It’s also an opportunity to deepen our bonds.

Don’t get me wrong: Having a pet with cancer sucks. It’s scary and not something any one of us would choose, for our pets or ourselves. I’m not talking about denying the fear—any emotions you push down will just come back up with a vengeance, often at the most inopportune time. Allow the fear. Allow that you and your friend are living with uncertainty right now. Allow that that’s a scary thing. And make the most of the time you have together.

Focus on the breath

One of the best tricks for calming down (regardless of stressor) is to focus attention on the breath—after all, it’s always there, whether or not we’re paying attention. When we’re stressed, our breath tends to be shallow, and only to our chest. But deep, mindful breathing calms the physical body along with the mind. Like everything else in this article, this is not a technique to “get rid of” the thoughts and emotions you have around your pet’s cancer diagnosis and treatment. Meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg, in her book Real Happiness, writes:

“Connecting to your breath when thoughts or images arise is like spotting a friend in a crowd: You don’t have to shove everyone else aside or order them to go aware you just direct you attention, your enthusiasm, your interest toward your friend. Oh, you think, there’s my friend in that crowd. Oh, there’s my breath, among those thoughts and feelings and sensations.” 

Serve from your saucer

You know what they always say on flights, about putting on your own oxygen mask first? The same goes for helping your animal friend through a health challenge or crisis. Take care of yourself first, or as I’ve heard it said, “Serve from your saucer.” That is, fill your own cup first, so that you don’t burn out, and do the most emotionally difficult tasks when you have some overflow. What you’re going through is hard, and this is a time to treat yourself as you would a friend in the same situation.

Those of us who love animals tend to know other people who love animals. If there are people in your life who have the archaic attitude of “it’s just a cat/dog,” do what you’d do on social media, and mute them IRL for a while. Surround yourself with as much support as you can find, whether that’s friends, family, people online, or a support group for humans whose pets are going through treatment.

Our minds can be our worst enemies during our companion animal’s health crises, and as the saying goes, the mind can be a dangerous neighborhood to wander alone. You will second-guess yourself (and possibly your vet). You will have to make decisions without full use of your brainpower. People will say triggering things to you. You will cry a lot. That’s all okay. That’s to be expected. It’s not pleasant, yet trying to bury your emotions will only cause them to leak (or explode) later, often at an inappropriate target.

Focus on just this moment (as much as possible)

You don’t need to know how you’re going to cope with the entire trajectory of your pet’s illness. You only need to make it through this moment, just this moment.

Although animals have strong survival instincts, they don’t lie in the sun contemplating their own mortality (at least, I don’t think they do). Animals may sense that they’re unwell—dogs are more open about this than cats, because they’re more domesticated—but they’re not wondering, “am I going to die?” They just know that, in this moment, they don’t feel great.

One of the gifts they give us is being an example for living in the present moment. We never know what the future holds. None of us is guaranteed even to make it to the end of this day. When we remember and can accept that, every moment becomes a gift. That could be interpreted as a dollar-store platitude, so let me clarify:

I don’t mean that cancer, or any serious illness in any animal (including humans), is good. Rather, I mean that if we’re living too much in our anxious or sad thoughts, we’re missing the opportunity to connect the animal who is by our side right now. Still living. Still breathing. Still loving you.

One of my favorite ways to come into the present moment is to focus on sensations: Gently place the palm of your hand on your animal friend’s side, and focusing all your attention on the sensations in your hand. Feel the texture of their fur. Feel their belly rise and fall. Feel their heartbeats. If your mind runs away with you (and it very well may), redirect your attention to the sensations in the palm of your hand.

As humans—and especially as humans responsible for a given animal’s welfare—we have to make decisions and strategize. Those activities, while necessary, also take us back into the mind and can lead to cascades of thoughts that evoke grief. This is totally typical, and not something to beat yourself up over.

Lean into mystery

Bodies comprise a vast number of processes in constant, delicate balance, from the rhythm of heartbeats to pH levels. If any one of these millions of processes break, the body dies. From that perspective, it’s a miracle any of us (by which I mean all beings) live longer than a few seconds.

In the busyness of our daily lives, we often forget that we’re part of a vast galaxy that the human mind can’t fully comprehend. We forget that our bodies are temporary. We forget that, as I once heard someone say, we’re already ghosts, wearing meat suits and hurtling through space. So are our companion animals. Yet the first law of thermodynamics tells us that energy can change form, but it can’t be created or destroyed. There is something in us and in the animals we love—something we can’t possibly comprehend through the mind—that is as old as the universe and as poetic as stardust. And that doesn’t die.

Transform home care into quality time

Most of us have happy rituals when our pets are healthy. Walks to the park. Playing fetch. Wand toys. Mealtimes. Our bond grows deeper through these shared activities, and deeper still when they’re repeated daily over many years.

When an animal friend has a serious illness, usually there are changes to the routine, and/or frequent vet visits (for chemo or other treatment). While these aren’t as “fun” as puppy playdates, for example, they’re also an opportunity to deepen the bond between you and your cat or dog. Bring your full attention to every interaction with your animal friend. As you drive to the vet, for example, talk to them about why you’re going there and what will happen.

Make sure home-treatment time is uninterrupted. Put away your phone, close the door, and create space for quality time. Especially if your pet is not a fan of treatment, take time to explain why you’re giving him subcutaneous fluids, pills, or sprinkling supplements on her food. They may not understand the words, but speaking them brings you into the moment, and in turn, that will help to calm you down (which can help the animal you’re treating remain calm…ish). Try repeating, “You are safe, and you are loved.” (And remember that applies to you, too!)

Remember self-compassion

What you’re going through is difficult and painful. There may be fear, anger, deep sadness, resentment that your animal friend—and you—have to go through this. Self-compassion means treating yourself with the same kindness you would treat a child, or kitten or puppy. It means saying, “This hurts.”

Here’s the weird thing about dealing with painful emotions: If you can accept that an emotion is there, if you can really stay in the moment and feel it without resistance—without thoughts like “this shouldn’t be happening” or “I should have noticed sooner,”—the emotion will move through the body. Emotions are energy forms, and like all energy, they’re kinetic (not static). The need to be acknowledged and expressed is inherent in their form.

Accept the things you cannot change (easier said than done)

When it comes to feline or canine cancer, diabetes, hyperthyroidism, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and other serious illnesses, we can set the intention for our animal friend to heal. We can take every possible action to make that happen, from veterinary treatment to surgery to nutrition to PEMF and Reiki, yet the outcome isn’t fully up to us. To paraphrase Ellen Carozza, the most popular licensed vet tech on Instagram, animals live their lifespans, not ours.

Most of us don’t like feeling out of control, especially when the situation is as emotionally fraught as having one of our most beloved companions fall seriously ill. You don’t have to like it, but the treatment period will be a whole lot easier on you (and therefore your animal) if you can accept that this is the situation that exists right now.

The definition of uncertainty is that we don’t know the outcome. As I wrote in a guest post for The Conscious Cat, when we recognize that our animal friends’ time on this planet (as well as our own) is finite, suddenly our time together becomes even more valuable, because of the human tendency to value what’s scarce and take for granted that which is abundant.

I sincerely hope that all of you reading this will have many more years with the animals in your lives. If, after all you and your veterinary team have done, it becomes clear that your animal friend is not going to recover, talk to your vet about switching to palliative care, and create space in your schedule to make sure the remaining time you have together is as meaningful as possible.

This post originally appeared on the blog of The Brodie Fund.

(The below text is inserted by Substack, not me)

As many of you know, TUNA-the-book sold out in June. The publisher ordered a new print run, but the publishing industry has been experiencing lots of delays—from backlogs at printers to delivery issues.

ANYWAY, all of that is now a moot point, because TUNA is back in stock in the United States and Canada (books are en route to the UK and Europe) 🎉🎉🎉. You can now, once again, help to heal the hearts of grieving pet parents.

Where to Buy the TUNA Book

• Sounds True (publisher)

• IndieBound/Bookshop

• Amazon.com

• Amazon.ca

• Barnes & Noble

• Chapters-Indigo

• The book is not yet restocked at Waterstones, but you can sign up for an alert as soon as it arrives.

And, of course, you can always buy the book or request it from your favourite indie bookstore!

The “Buy Two, Give Two” Approach

TUNA was originally conceived as a gift book for two reasons:

1. Because people who are grieving their pets find comfort when someone else understands their grief and pain.

2. To share the joy of giving

My hope is that people will give recipients two copies: one to keep, and one to pay it forward to someone else who is grieving an animal friend.

Given the rising cost of, well, everything, this may not be feasible for you—and no worries (I understand financial constraints all too well). But if you are able, please consider this ‘pay it forward’ approach.

Blurb from a bestselling author

Last year, I sent out a newsletter raving about THE OTHER FAMILY DOCTOR, by Karen Fine, DVM. I met Karen in 2018, when I interviewed her for an article commissioned by the Boston Globe. Until I was searching through images for this newsletter, I’d forgotten she blurbed TUNA. (And likewise, if you buy her book, you’ll see my name on the back with a heartfelt endorsement.)

Ask your cat for advice

If you’re someone who’s into Oracle decks, or if you enjoyed Magic 8-balls as a kid, you might enjoy this unique cat-themed deck created by Wendy Miller of Card to Believe. You ask a question and draw a card with a response. This is a great present for friends, colleagues or family (or all three!).

Zoom background for phone

This is another image I’d completely forgotten about, until I began looking through old folders today. Francis drew this in 2019 as a free download. Because it’s square, I didn’t think it could be used for Zoom, but maybe for background? In any case, I thought you might enjoy this. I felt a sharp pang of missing Francis when I saw this (for those who don’t know, he passed away in early 2021).

If you’re grieving the loss of an animal friend right now, please be gentle with yourself. If you have a loved one who is grieving, please share TUNA and my writings/podcasts with them.

Warmly,

I met Karen Fine, DVM, in 2018, when I interviewed her for an article about rethinking pet loss. The article was ‘killed’ (never published), but we kept in touch. Last year, I had the great honour of reading an advance copy of THE OTHER FAMILY DOCTOR: A VETERINARIAN EXPLORES WHAT ANIMALS CAN TEACH US ABOUT LOVE, LIFE AND MORTALITY, and I literally couldn’t put it down. THE OTHER FAMILY DOCTOR comes out next Tuesday, March 14, and I’m as excited as I was about TUNA.

As a child, I devoured the James Herriot books, and I’ve always enjoyed stories of animals, especially told by people who work with them professionally, like Patricia B. McConnell. Karen Fine’s book deserves to be on a shelf with both authors. It’s heartwarming and uplifting and surprisingly humorous, despite a few scenes that might have you reaching for tissues.

The book isn’t entirely about cats, and it’s not entirely about loss and grief, but both are woven throughout. The story of how Dr. Fine became a vet, and some of her most memorable patients, is a compelling page-turner. She addresses others’ losses, as well as her own—feline and canine—with candor and compassion. Every animal lover should have a copy of this book.

Americans (and those who use Amazon US) can find the book here.

Canadians can find the book here.

Please share this post with your social networks and fellow animal lovers. This book is really THAT GOOD.

When you’ve read it, please leave a review on Amazon (or wherever you purchase the book); those reviews help authors immensely, especially in the first six months after publication.

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