Losing My First Cat Changed How I See Life

I got my cat, Piku, during a time when I couldn’t keep other pets. Before that, I was only able to feed a few strays from outside, but I couldn’t bring any of them home. We lived in a different house back then. After we moved to a new place, everything changed—Piku came into my life.

He was a stray my mom found on the road and brought home on February 5, 2020. He didn’t live long—he passed away on November 13, 2021—but in those months, he became my everything. His life and death left a lasting mark on me, deeper than I ever expected.

Piku had a lot of internal health issues. He was almost handicapped. For a long time, he suffered from chronic constipation. He had trouble peeing and pooping and needed regular visits to the vet to have waste removed manually. It was painful for him, and painful for us to watch. He went through a lot just to stay alive. And we tried. We really did.

The night before he died, we took him to the vet again. His condition was already really bad. The vet told us there wasn’t much they could do anymore. And still, to this day, I carry guilt. I blame myself, my mom, and my brother. I keep thinking maybe if we had acted quicker or more decisively, we could’ve saved him. Maybe he could’ve had more time. And even after more than three years, I still miss him, think about him, and feel like I failed him.

During those two years, especially in the thick of COVID, Piku was the only reason I kept going. I was deeply depressed from family issues, and he was the one thing that kept me alive. I kept telling myself—I can’t give up because I need to be here for him. I need to protect him. I need to stay alive for him. It’s heartbreaking to know that I survived that dark phase because of him… but I couldn’t save him.

He would come and sit in my lap whenever I cried. Sometimes, I held back my tears just because I knew he could feel it. He was so gentle—so in tune with me. It honestly felt like he understood things I couldn’t even say out loud. He wasn’t just a cat. He was someone who saw me in a way no one else ever really did.

I’ve had other cats since him. But none were like Piku. He was different. The day he died, a part of me died too. I stopped seeing life and death the way I used to. It wasn’t something scary or mysterious anymore. It became something I felt numb to. Something I just… accepted.

I didn’t react the way people expect someone to react when they lose someone they love—not when Piku passed, but later, when other family members passed away after him. I felt indifferent. Detached. Empty. And that made me feel guilty too. Guilty for not grieving “correctly,” not mourning the way society expects you to. But honestly, I think Piku’s death broke something inside me so deeply that I couldn’t feel loss the same way again. I still don’t know how to explain it fully.

Since then, I’ve lived in this quiet numbness—just accepting whatever comes my way. I still blame myself for not doing enough. But I also know, deep down, I loved him with everything I had. And not a single day has passed since that I haven’t thought about him. I still picture him beside me,alive and comforting.

Even if he were alive today, I know we’d have to part eventually. That’s the reality of loving pets, they come into your life, they change you, they support you when no one else can… and they leave when their time is up.

There’s only one thing I look forward to now. I pray that when I die, God reunites me with my baby Piku. That hope—that I’ll see him again....is the only thing I truly hold onto.