Saying Goodbye to Mia...😿

From: A Person Who Loves Animals

Today wasn’t supposed to be heavy.

It started with all of us at my daughter’s field day. Me, my wife, and my son Donovan cheered her on. Donovan even got his own moment—crying to hit the wiffle ball, the coach taking him aside, showing him how to swing. For a little while, everything felt good, like life was moving forward.

Sometimes, life throws a different kind curve ball at you.

This afternoon, I found myself riding shotgun with my mom and a cat carrier in the backseat. Mia—my deceased dad's oldcat—was meowing after every turn as we drove. The music was off, just the road and her voice filling the car. We were on our way to do something I never wanted to do: bring her to a shelter, because my mom couldn’t care for her anymore.

Mia’s not a stray. She’s been family for over fifteen years. She came into our lives as a “tip” for my stepdad after a boiler job, a kitten alongside her sister Leah. I remember them tumbling around the house as kids do. Years went by. Leah passed on—an accident with bug spray, still stings to think about. My stepdad is gone, too. Mia kept hanging on. Outlived them all.

Recently, Mia’s been having accidents, missing the litter box. The house started to carry that “cat funk”—one you have to keep clean or you won't get rid of it for good. It was getting harder. My son slipped on pee in the kitchen one night and bumped his head from the fall. So the decision was made that we need to find her a new home. My mom was stressed, tired, and torn going from "We need to get rid of this cat" to "She was such a sweet girl..". We tried, man. We really did. Today, I watched Mia fight my mom—stretched out her arms, cartoon-style, refusing to get in the carrier. My daughter helped me coax her with patience, I got her to walk in by herself. She looked at me, trusting me, even when she didn’t want to.

It should’ve ended at the shelter, but she’s too old—not one would take her. Claiming they were either too full or not accepting any strays at the moment. So after some advice from a couple of vets while on the search, we found ourselves on our way to a walk-in euthanasia appointment, with plans to bury her in our backyard. I for real prayed. I asked God to forgive us for this, because honestly? This feels wrong and right at the same time.

Mia was never really a problem. Just old, and she had gotten senile, and grown tired. The decision isn’t about blame or anger—it’s about finally reaching the edge of what you can do for a family pet that you love, when their needs outgrow what you can offer them. Part of me is relieved: My mom isn't well herself she has renal failure and isn't allowed to deal with the litter box, or be around the cat hair due to allergies. Now I can finally clean my mom’s house for her, get rid of the smell, and the dander and stop worrying about my mother's health due to Mia. I’d trade that relief for one more good year if I could.

The truth is, nobody talks about this part. The guilt. The relief. The sadness. The little bit of shame. You wonder if you did enough. If you loved enough. If you’re wrong for letting go. I know we did right by her, and by us. Sometimes love means making the hardest call. It means being there, turning off the music, and just sitting in the heavy, honest silence together.

Today, we put Mia to rest, she trusted me one last time.

Now I’m carrying that with me 🥺😢💔

If you’re ever in this spot, don’t let anyone tell you how you should feel. Grief is complicated. Love isn’t always simple. Just be real with it. That’s how you honor the story, and the life, you shared.