I lost my beloved orange cat, Rusty, last June. The bond with a pet is unique compared to any human relationship. Apart from his sister, Bella, I was the center of Rusty’s world. His whole purpose seemed to be to love me, and he always appeared heartbroken whenever I had to close a door between us.
Early on, Rusty learned that the ring of my meditation timer meant my lap was available. Right after the bell, I’d hear him padding towards me. He’d hop up, circle a few times, and then settle perfectly on my lap, trusting me completely. I even dedicated a special yellow towel to ensure he had no gaps to fall through.
We quickly developed a daily routine of sitting in silence together, our favorite part of the day. It’s been almost a year since he passed away, and I still lay the yellow towel on my lap when I meditate. I miss him dearly.
I read that the depth of one’s grief mirrors the depth of one’s love. Rusty touched me in a way no human ever could. He opened my heart to his deep, unconditional love, and now I endure the profound pain of losing him.
Buddha teaches not to cling to worldly things, not because it’s bad, but because it can amplify our suffering. Grief, for example, is a natural pain that can spiral into self-created stories, making it worse. Buddha distinguished between “worldly” and “unworldly” pain. I could let my grief drag me into sadness and loneliness, a “worldly” pain, or I could use it as a path to a greater perspective.
The day after Rusty died, I cleaned up his things, packed away his dish, litter box, and meds. This helped me accept that he was gone, recognizing the impermanence of life. Looking back, he handled his final days with such dignity. Despite his pain, he continued to love me until his final moments. When his focus shifted to some distant place, I knew it was time for his last vet visit. He seemed ready, without fear or resistance, just acceptance.
When I adopted Rusty, I never imagined he’d teach me so much. He showed me what true love and living with impermanence look like. He taught me to let go of what I cannot control and transform painful experiences into insightful ones.
I’m still grieving and suspect I will be for a long time. However, Bella is still with me, and one way I can honor Rusty is by loving her as he loved me. He showed me how to be a loving presence for others, a gift that continues to unfold for me.
Rest in peace, Rusty. I’ll always be grateful for everything you gave me.