I lost my first beloved pet last Wednesday.

Tiger.

She’d been sick for a little while but I had no idea how bad until I took her to the vet. I left the SPCA without her.

It turns out she had a tumor and it made that difficult for her to walk and use her litter box.

I never thought I could be so heartbroken over a pet, but again, Tiger was my first cat. I raised her from kittenhood to the ripe age of 13. She’s been with me through a big move, three relationships, a marriage, school, a career change, and countless other life events. Tiger was always a constant source of comfort whenever I was sad, and she always knew when to cuddle. I like to think she needed me as much as I needed her. When I was home, we were inseparable, even to the point of irritation. She was always underfoot, and I’m embarrassed to admit I probably stepped on her one too many times. Her favorite place to sleep was directly on top of me.

All she ever seemed to want was me. (And food, of course. She used to steal food off my plate when I wasn’t looking.) My attention, my presence, my love. It’s a heady feeling, and a humbling one. I hope I was a good cat momma to her, and if the gods allow it, I hope to see her again some day.