I believe I have mentioned at some point in the past that my mother and I rescue animals. Strays, fosters, and even two dogs literally on the slate to be euthanized for no other reason than because their owners surrendered them and the shelter had no room to take them in.

At the height of our rescue efforts, we’ve had living in our home six dogs and twelve cats at one time. Yes, the house is a zoo. I don’t always love it, but we do what we can.

One of the hardest parts about rescuing animals so consistently (besides the immense amount of daily work) is that sometimes we lose several in quick succession, a long string of losses, one right after the other. The average pet owner with one or two or even three pets usually has long breaks in between losses, but when you live with so many animals, the losses seem never to end. It’s been especially bad the last few years.

In September 2019, We lost two of our cats, my mother’s beloved Mieko to cancer, and my girl, Bobbi very unexpected to a brain aneurysm, just a week apart from each other. We lost a dog, Lady, to cancer in late 2023 (she was one of the two we had rescued from euthanasia at the shelter in 2019, so at least we gave her a few more years than she would have had otherwise). In Spring 2024, we lost our sweet middle-aged cat, Freiya, to kidney failure. A few months later, in December 2024 (just before Christmas in fact), we lost our oldest cat, Grady. His loss we at least expected. He was not as old as some cats live, at 14, but he had thyroid problems and had been in slow decline for awhile, so we were somewhat prepared.

Now, not even a year later, we’ve lost two more quickly. My youngest cat, my baby girl, Eilonwy, died very unexpectedly on May 26th. She’d eaten a piece of string that strangled her intestines. She had emergency surgery, but could not recover. She was only four years old. Her death was a blow I’m not sure I’ll recover from any time soon. And, just yesterday, we had to let our oldest dog go. Like Grady, this was not unexpected. Abbey was 15, or possibly 16 (a stray we rescued off the road, thus her name, a reference to the Beatles album, Abbey Road). She lost the use of her back legs a little over a week ago. The vet was trying some treatments to help mobility but they weren’t working. And on Thursday and Friday, she stopped eating. She was a very tired old lady, who lived a good long life, and she was ready to rest. On Saturday, we let her go.

Still, knowing its coming never really helps that much. Especially not for my mom. Abbey was her dog primarily. They loved each other very much. While I am sad, my mom is inconsolable. I understand, of course. The one loss that still lingers the hardest for me was a long time ago now. My cat Sebastian, my love, my boy, who I had from six weeks old until his death one week shy of 18th birthday. Most of my life. He died in 2014, and it still aches like a new wound some days. Grief is strange like that.

We all take these losses hard. Some days I wonder how many more such blows we can handle, and we have so many more animals that we love and cherish and will one day lose. It is our duty as pet owners to care for our animals up to and through death, no matter how painful it is. And there are so many benefits from having a loving cat or dog in your life. Yet, part of me wonders if the pain becomes too much at some point, the losses too many. I sometimes think that as we lose more to illness or old age in the future, I might stop bringing new pets into the house. My heart is tired.