Welcome to Pet Loss

Last week, my beautiful cat, Karma Lynn, crossed the rainbow bridge. She’d been battling kidney disease for roughly a year and took a sharp turn for the worst in July. For five years, Karma had been my constant companion and cuddle bug. She was with me during the worst of COVID, my second layoff, taking care of one of my parents after a stroke, and when that same parent later passed away.

Karma had been my family’s cat for 17 and a half years. She came to stay with us for one weekend and never left. 

Karma’s start to life wasn’t the easiest. She’d been found by a construction worker in the neighborhood I grew up in, alone with a hurt paw. The construction worker took her to a nearby house which happened to belong to friends of ours. The friends called my mom, who helped take Karma to the vet. 

The vet said that Karma was about a month old and that she might lose the paw if she didn’t have constant care. They also said she was a short hair domestic tortoise shell cat (more on this later). Our friends, who were looking for a permanent home for Karma, had a trip coming up, so they left her at our house. 

My family, at the time, had a two year old boarder collie German shepherd mix. We weren’t sure how the dog would react to a cat, so Karma was placed in the first floor bathroom away from Gertrude (the dog). Karma had a nice little set up where her leg could heal and her cone of shame wouldn’t bother her. 

While I was out walking Gertrude - I had the night walks - my family took Karma out of her designated shelter and were cuddling her on the couch. I soon as I got back, I let Gertrude off the leash and closed the garage door. As I opened the door to go inside, Gert shot off like a rocket, jumped on the couch, and excitedly tried to lick Karma.

Badly startled, Karma also took off, racing over my sibling’s shoulder and falling down the back of the couch - only to be caught by her little cone before falling the whole way to the ground. My sibling got a small scar on their chest out of the commotion.

Gertrude loved Karma. They weren’t always buddy-buddy, but they occasionally curled up together. Gert loved mothering Karma while she was still tiny and, when Karma grew older, loved it when Karma would swipe chewable items off high places for her to gnaw on. My dad lost several very nice pens to Karma and Gertrude’s antics.

Sadly, Gertrude passed away in early 2019. She was about 12, nearly 13, years old. Karma was about 10, almost 11 at the time.

What ended up causing my family to keep Karma was one of my parents and my sibling begging to let her stay. My parent had put her on a little red velvet pillow and was carrying her around like the queen she knew she’d be. Every time she was lifted up, kitten Karma would let out an imperial meow as though addressing the rest of us as her loyal subjects. 

My other parent caved and I accepted the fact that we now had a cat.

It was only after deciding to keep her, did we finally decide a name for her. One of our family friend’s suggested we call her Karma since us taking her in would bring “good karma”. Coincidently, while on the way to the vet, the song “Karma Chameleon” came on the radio and quickly became the go to song to sing to Karma. I like to think I was the one to get the name Karma to stick, but we were all likely calling her Karma. 

There isn’t any story about how Lynn came about as a middle name and my one parent always insisted it was actually Kitty. 

My personal favorite memory of Karma was a year or so into my university years. Karma liked going into the basement and hunt for mice. Normally, we’d find the successful hunts lined up in the living room - nose to tail - waiting to be discovered. This particular night, Karma had had a successful hunts lined up and as she was bringing her catch up, I spotted her. I told her to drop the mouse; I thought it was dead. I wanted to get rid of said dead mouse now instead of waiting to find it later.

Karma ducked her cute little head as though to drop her prize, but didn’t. Instead, she gave me a look like: “are you sure you want me to drop it?” I said drop it a second time. And she dropped the mouse.

The mouse was not in fact dead.

It scampered through the kitchen, passing my sibling who jumped on the kitchen island screaming her head off, and found a hiding spot near the shoe box in the front hall. Needless to say, Karma gave me a “what did you except?” look, then shot off after the very much alive mouse. I grabbed the broom and dustpan and followed my miniature tiger to where she had cornered her quarry.

It took the better part of an hour, but eventually, I did get the still very much alive mouse away from Karma. I trapped it on the dustpan and released it outside. It was not a cute mouse. It was ugly, with a face like a snarling opossum mixed with a particularly feral wolverine. 

Karma was not happy with this development.

The vet said that Karma was a domestic short hair cat - which in the cat world means she was a mutt. However, she was not in fact short haired. Her hair grew long and fluffy. It got everywhere. I often brushed it for her in her later years. And when I did have to give her an infrequent bath, she looked like a sad Victorian child once the process was said and done. Her tortoise shell coat with black and orange meant that she looked like a Halloween decoration year round. She did have a white chest and socks (her paws were white), but that didn’t lessen the infamous tortitude tortoise shell cats are famous for. 

Karma was a spicy kitty and she left everyone know it.

The reason Karma came to live with me isn’t the happiest, but she became my cat because of it. Her later years were spent at my apartment playing with her toys (the ghost was her favorite) and enjoying time on the balcony and in front of the fireplace (weather dependent). 

This past year was especially tough. I knew logically that she wouldn’t live forever and that at 12 (when I got her), her years were numbered. Her diagnosis last year was devastating. I used to say that Karma would live to 20 out of sheer spite - which was more of a prayer for her to actually do so. There were a lot of ups and downs, but my biggest goal was seeing her in my new house. Thankfully, she made it and lived in the house for four months.

Karma loved the big guest room and claimed it as hers. She especially loved the deck and would spend time out there even when it was 100F out - much to my concern. She would howl outside the basement door because I wouldn’t let her go downstairs without me. She was excited to greet every guest that stopped by and enjoyed her view from the front door of me working in the yard.

Over the last few weeks of her decline, every morning I’d wake up, tell her how much I loved her, and say how blessed I was to get an extra day with her. I had hoped she’d be here for the first holidays in the house, but it was her time.

She didn’t get to live in the house long, but she got to be here and her presence is very much missed.

Karma is not my first pet death, but it is the first time I’ve lost a pet that I was primarily responsible for. I cried ugly tears and had to have my friends come get me. I cried for two days straight and even now am getting a little teary eyed. I miss her and nothing can replace her. I’m glad I was able to give her a good home in her last years. She was my baby and it’s hard being without her.

My family has sent me some wonderful memories of her. I have a friend who is going to paint her portrait for me. Her ashes are going to my parent who has Gertrude’s ashes so Karma can be with her mama dog. 

It hurts a lot and I don’t know if I ever want to go through this kind fo pain again. I’m not sure how people are able to have multiple pets after losing one. 

But I have to keep living and hoping I’ll meet her again in the afterlife.

Until next week.

If you enjoyed this post (or it really pissed you off) please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope y’all like hearing from me.

Welcome to Losing a Beloved Pet

My dog, Gertrude, died on Tuesday. On some level I'm still processing that she's gone. I just saw her while vising my mom in Michigan for the holidays. On another level, I knew that it was very likely to be the last time I saw her.

Gertrude was nearly 14 years old. We had had her since she was a tiny puppy who could barely jump onto the couch. She grew until she was nearly 3 times the size that we had thought she would be (75 lbs versus 35 lbs). I especially loved her awkward puppy phase where she was nothing but legs and ears.

She was my first Facebook profile picture and the first time someone tried to make fun of my blog, they specifically referenced how they "didn't want to hear about my dog" (I blocked them). She was a constant companion during high school and always happy to see me when I came home for a visit after I moved away. She was a Boarder Collie German Shepard mix and could fit in my dad's hand when she was a puppy. She was sort of friends with our cat, Karma. In the last years of her life, she got to play with her adopted sister Millie.

I'm glad she had a good long life.

She wasn't my first dog or even my first pet. My sister and I raised hermit crabs for a long time before we finally got our first dog. He was an equally wonderful dog who would never have allowed anything bad to happen to the family. It was tough when he died and we waited a while before adopting Gertrude.

Pets are wonderful family members, and yes they are family. It's nearly impossible not to love a dog or cat or hamster or any of the other furry critters that come into our lives. I'll even give people who raise reptiles as pets credit. The amount of pictures of cute pet snakes on Pinterest alone can have me falling into a black hole of saying "aww" for an hour or two.

There are many days I wish I had a pet with me. I'd love to come home to an excited pooch happy to see me. But it's just not possible right now. Pets are a huge responsibility and I couldn't commit to having one with my current lifestyle. Plus I'm super allergic to most pets that aren't dogs.

Instead I raise plants.

Plants aren't animals, though, and they are hard to cuddle with (especially my temperamental cactus). Also, when a plant dies, I don't feel quite as bad. Don't get me wrong, I'm still sad when I accidentally kill one of my plants, but I've taken steps to only look after really hardy plants that are really hard to kill.

My emotional attachment to a pet is a lot higher than to a plant. I am still adverse to watching any emotionally driven movie or horror movie with a dog in it. It's an almost automatic hard stop if a dog, cat, or horse dies. I've heard a number of authors state that they avoid killing a pet (especially a dog) because it will generate enough hate mail to fill their entire house.

A pet's passing is something that hits us right in our basic emotions. I cried for a few hours while I tried to process that Gertrude was gone. Other people also understood how I felt. Everyone who has heard of Gert's passing has been very nice and sending me their condolences.

I wasn't the only person in my sphere of friends to have lost a furry family member. From what I was able to gather, these beloved pets were also older and had lived good long lives. They were loved and cherished until the end.

I'm going to miss Gertrude. She was awesome.

If you enjoyed this post (or it really hit you in the feels) please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope you guys like hearing from me.

Welcome to Icons Part 3: When an Icon Fades

This past week we lost a major icon in the music industry, Chester Bennington. Linkin Park was one of my favorite bands in the 2000s. I loved singing along whenever one of their songs popped up on the radio station (DC 101.1 was all I listened to back then). His music spoke the angsty teenager that I was. Hearing about his death was tough and I might have played nothing but Linkin Park for the past few days.

Within minutes of people hearing about Chester Bennington's death, people were posting on social media how his music changed their lives. Some people posted about how Linkin Park's music helped them get through the worst parts of their lives. Others mentioned how his work inspired them at a time when their lives felt directionless.

We've recently lost a lot of iconic people. Not just musicians, but also actors, models, authors, and political activists. Some lived long full lives, while others passed away after a long battle with illness, and a few lost their lives in tragic accidents. When someone who is iconic dies, people will stop whatever they are doing and type out a message on social media, telling everyone what this person meant to their lives, even though many times they've never actually met.

Iconic people are able to touch so many lives with their work. They can seem so much larger than life, that when we loose them, we fell like we are loosing a part of ourselves. I know people who still mourn the death of Robin Williams and will post tributes to him on his birthday (heck I've been known to cry while watching his older movies).

The first major iconic death that I was aware of was when Princess Diana died. At the time, I had no idea who she was, what she stood for, or why so many people loved her. I only knew about her death because my mom started crying when she heard the news. Back then, I didn't understand why my mom would cry because someone she had never met died. Clearly she meant something to my mom, but it wasn't like they were friends. I'm older now and, hopefully, a wise enough to understand that just because you don't know someone personally doesn't mean they can't touch your lives in a positive way.

Princess Diana meant a lot to many people, as did Prince, and Alan Rickman, Debbie Reynolds, Carrie Fisher, and David Bowie. I could name hundreds of iconic people whom we have lost in the past ten years. Each one helping to shape and influence people they might never have met.

Icons mean something and can represent anything. They can appear out of no where and occasionally fade just as quickly. They inspire us. They influence us. They can change our lives. When an iconic person dies, we mourn them and celebrate their lives. We remember the amazing things they have done and why we had such strong emotions for them.

Death is tragic, even if it is inevitable. When a person dies, they don't just fade away from our collective conscious. We remember them and tell their stories to the next generation.

Thank you for reading. Until next week.

Welcome to the Holiday Blues

Christmas is supposed to be "the most wonderful time of the year." At least that's what the radio, movies, advertisements, and the media keep telling me. It's a time to spend with family and friends. To share and create memories.

So how come I've been feeling so down?

I'm not going to lie. I cried almost every day this week. It seems silly right?

Part of me was realizing that I needed to upgrade my tech and how pretty soon, everything I own will become obsolete. This should have been an obvious realization. After all, change seems to be the only constant in my life. Anyone who has ever seen an ad for Radio Shack from the 90s knows that everything they used to sell individually is available in a smartphone and/or laptop.

Did you guys know that the last VHS player was built in Japan this year? Yeah, VHS is pretty much gone know. If you have a bunch of home movies, you might want to consider making digital copies. Apple is ditching the analog headphones with their latest iPhone. DVDs players are become less common. Not to mention that kids today have no idea what a floppy disk is (they just think it's a universal symbol for "save").

I think the reason I'm so sensitive to all these changes is because I'm finally realizing how quickly time goes by when I'm not paying attention. I didn't realize until very recently that my loyal laptop from college was pushing seven years. It still works, but it's definitely having issues.

Ten years no long seems like a long time. When I was 15, I felt completely different from how I was at the age of 5. I can't say the same thing about looking back at my teens from my mid-twenties. I think a part of me realizes how much time has passed. I've grown a lot since I graduated college and even more since I graduated high school.

It probably doesn't help that I'm still constantly being mistaken as a teenager.


Feeling down at this time of year is not unusual. Between mass consumerism and realizing how much time has passed since you last had the time to take a breather. Time seemed endless as a kid. I felt like I had all the time in the world. I thought I could do anything and everything.

While setting up my Christmas decorations and cleaning my apartment, I found some of my old journals. I started rereading some of them. There's a lot of bad spelling and I had horrible handwriting, but it was interesting to see my inner thoughts as an 11 year old. I mostly wrote about food (go figure right).

As much as I would love to go back and relive all the good times and visit with friends and family who have passed away, I can't. I can only move forward. It's tough to let go of things and sometimes I've just got to accept the feelings I feel (crying and all) and be thankful for what is happening in the present.

If you enjoyed this post (or it really pissed you off) please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope you guys like hearing from me. Until next week...which also happens to be Christmas.