I lost my beloved orange cat, Rusty, last June. The bond you form with a pet is so unique and unlike any human relationship. Besides his sister Bella, I was Rusty’s entire world. His sole purpose seemed to be to love me, and he always looked heartbreakingly sad whenever we were separated by a closed door.
Early on, Rusty figured out that the sound of my meditation timer meant it was time to join me. Right after the bell rang, I’d hear him approaching, then feel him jumping onto my lap. He had a little routine of circling a few times before settling down, always finding the perfect spot to snuggle his warm, furry body against me. Rusty taught me what complete trust looked like. I even dedicated a special yellow towel for my lap to ensure he had a secure space.
We quickly developed a daily habit of sitting in silent companionship, just the two of us. It became our favorite part of the day. Nearly a year after his passing, I still place the yellow towel on my lap when I meditate, missing him dearly.
I’ve heard that the depth of grief reflects the depth of love. Rusty touched me deeply, breaking my heart open with his unconditional love, and now I feel the deep pain of his loss. One of Buddha’s core teachings is about avoiding attachment to worldly things, not because attachment is bad, but because it can amplify our suffering.
Buddha distinguished between “worldly” and “unworldly” pain. I could let this grief drag me into feelings of loneliness and melancholy—this is “worldly” pain because it ties me to a limited perspective. Alternatively, I could use this pain to gain a broader, “unworldly” viewpoint. The day after Rusty died, I packed away his things and cleaned up the remnants of his illness, gradually accepting his absence and understanding the impermanence of life.
Looking back, I see how Rusty faced his dying process with such dignity. I’m sure he knew he was dying and handled it matter-of-factly. Despite his pain, he continued to love me until his last moments. When his focus shifted to a distant place, I knew it was time for our final trip to the vet. He was ready to go without fear or resistance, fully accepting his fate.
I had no idea when I adopted Rusty that he would become such a profound teacher. He showed me not only what love looks like but also how to live gracefully with the truth of impermanence and let go of things beyond our control. He taught me to transform pain from a worldly experience to an insightful one.
While I continue to grieve and suspect I will for a long time, Bella is still with me. To honor Rusty, I aim to love Bella as deeply as he loved me. Rusty taught me the beauty of being a loving presence for others, a gift that continues to unfold for me.
Rest in peace, Rusty. I will always be grateful for everything you gave me.