On Halloween, we said our tearful goodbyes to our sweet Bonny Lass.

We knew when we adopted her that she had cancer, and a recurring one. She had a life expectancy of two more years. She’d had one surgery so far, and went through four with us. The last one, she didn’t recover as quickly from, and we decided that was it, plus the cancer was growing underneath the muscle, a much more invasive surgery.

We adopted her and her bonded pal, Hamish, in February 2019, after Ken finished chemo but before surgery to clean out the rest of his tumors. We’d seen the cats on the shelter’s website, but didn’t know about Bonny’s cancer until we met her. It seemed like a sign. She needed a loving home to live out the rest of her days, and that was something we could give her.

She was never a lap cat, our sweet bonny girl, but she loved being next to you and getting scritchies. Sometimes she made biscuits with all four paws, she was so happy. If you stopped, after a few moments you’d feel a gentle touch on your arm, and look over to see her sea-glass-green eyes wide and questioning. Excuse me, I’d like more scritchies, please. And we could never deny her.

She lasted seven months longer than the expected two years, and we were grateful for every day. Even when the horrible tumor was so large it made me sick, she didn’t seem to care. She ran back and forth at meal times in anticipation of food, jumped up on chairs and my desk, and in her few months thought the back of my reclining writing chair was the best place to perch.

Then on Halloween night, she didn’t eat her supper, and when I went to check on her, she was breathing heavily.

I always promise my cats that when they’re too tired or too much in pain to go on, to tell me. That I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I would because that was what they needed, and they’d always, always live in my heart.

She had that look in her sea-glass-green eyes.

And so we let her go, and she’s now free of cancer and frolicking and making happy biscuits with all four paws. No matter how much it hurts—saying goodbye to her, missing her her peeps and purrs—that makes me smile through my tears.

Bonny Lass
Feb 2011 – Oct 31, 2021