by Bec Timmons

Bec Timmons lives in Maryland with their partner and two cats. They are currently attending the University of Maryland, Baltimore, School of Social Work for their MSW. In their free time, they love being with family (pets included), reading books, playing video games with friends, and writing stories.

When I was 15, I adopted my cat Parker. When I was 16, I somehow talked my parents into rescuing another cat named Issi. These were my first babies. I took care of those two cats like they were my own children. I went through some of my highest highs and lowest lows with them as my companions. Parker and Issi were both very in-tune with my health—both physically and mentally. Through my struggles with my mental health and my disability, they always loved me. And I loved them more than I loved most people. There is something so pure about a pet’s love. They were part of my family. I am confident there’s at least one person reading this who feels similarly about their pet.

In July of 2024, I had to make the difficult decision many pet parents fear—Issi had to be put down. We have no idea how old she was (our vet guessed 27) but age and cancer had caught up to her. She lived a happy 5 years with a family who loved her. And what was truly exceptional is that I learned a lot from Issi, and I learned about myself through her. She had chosen me at the shelter, and I chose to be with her at her end. When I lost Issi, I felt I had lost a part of my heart—something was missing. I missed hearing her bell ring with her every step, I missed her meows when she would have a conversation with me, and I missed her cuddles she would always happily provide. Even through this loss though, Parker was with me. He grieved his sister and he was always by my side as I grieved.

In October of 2025, Parker passed away in his sleep. There were no warning signs; the night before he seemed completely like himself. By morning, he was dead, still lying in his normal sleeping spot. It seemed to be quick, over in an instant. In all honesty, I won’t ever know what happened. We didn’t do an autopsy because it wouldn’t change anything. Parker wasn’t old, there was no illness or injury. This unexpected loss came 6 months after a big move halfway across the country, where I’m in a new space. I lost my anchor, my constant over the last 7 years.

The grief from this loss hit me like a freight train.

The first two weeks after that loss are a blur. I was so anxious that I felt like I couldn't eat. My brain felt clouded. I was supposed to be a grad student but I couldn’t focus on anything. I fell behind on readings, my work on assignments came to a halt. I showed up to classes but I barely remember anything I learned. It felt like no matter how hard I tried, my brain couldn’t take in any information. I felt crazy reading papers with classmates and finding it took me twice as long to read the same paper as everybody else.

The sudden loss took me by surprise, and I became very anxious, worrying it could happen again. I had one cat who survived Parker, our kitten Yuumi. One day about a week after Parker’s death, I still remember coming home and she didn’t greet me at the door like she usually does. I didn’t even hear her bell to signal she had woken up somewhere. Calling her name and checking everywhere in our apartment, I couldn’t find her and I started panicking; I feared the worst. I was crying and calling for her and my thoughts felt out of my control. It had happened to me once, it felt like it was always a possibility now. Yuumi emerged from her nap after hearing my distress. She was ok, everything was fine, but all it took was one moment of uncertainty to remind me of my loss.

Things kept going forward but I felt stuck.

I would show up to classes, family events, work and felt I had to act like everything was fine. Someone asking me how I was doing made me burst into tears. I felt so numb and yet so emotional. I felt like a mess. Even as time passed, my grief didn’t just go away. I might seem fine on the outside but I still miss Parker often and think about him a lot. My first experiences living in a new place felt strange without him by my side.

I tell this story because I know many have had these close relationships with their pets. The stories may be different, but that kind of connection and love with our pets is not unusual. For many people, our pets—furry and otherwise—are part of our family. Not only that, but our daily routines are shaped around them. We feed our pets at mealtime, we take our dogs on walks. Some people can probably relate to being woken up because of a pet’s need—or because they were being vocal. Their lives become intertwined with ours.

And yet, pet grief feels like it’s rarely acknowledged in our society. There’s no leave of absence for the loss of a pet. There’s not much offered support for pet loss. And I would guess I’m not the only one who has had their feelings discounted because the grief was for a pet. It’s interesting how the subject of grief for the death of a pet is often shamed or diminished, especially considering that for many our pets are part of our family.

We may feel pressure to continue working, even if the grief is affecting our ability to work. We may hear comments from people close to us that make us feel like it shouldn’t be affecting us. We may feel we have to bury that grief and that we shouldn’t bring up the loss of our pet. Maybe we feel silly that the hardest loss we have experienced was our pet.

I feel as a society that we do not talk about pet grief enough.

It is often minimized and treated as insignificant. I believe grieving a pet can be just as hard as grieving any human loved one we’ve lost. And for anybody who has lost their pet and is grieving them, I want to assure you that it is normal. And more than likely something every pet owner will have to face someday. The sad truth is that most pets have a shorter lifespan than the average human. We will experience that loss at least once, and for many pet lovers—more than a few times. The death of a pet and grieving that loss is more common than we may think, and I believe this needs to be talked about more.

If you have lost your pet and you have grieved that loss deeply, you aren’t weird or crazy. It’s not something to feel ashamed of. It’s a normal feeling and it’s a real and raw feeling. That grief is still grief and you are grieving the loss of a loved one—even if they are furry, scaly, feathered, or all the in-between. There’s something about pets that just captures our hearts. And even after they're gone, they still have shaped us in some way.

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