Sarah’s Story

My heart and spirit are broken. Three days ago, on November 12, 2025, Rob and I made the excruciatingly humane decision to say goodbye to our beloved kitty, Sarah.

Baby picture of Sweet Sarah
October 2009

Sarah was 16 years old. Despite a weight loss that began during Covidtimes when her favorite foods were not available (stupid pandemic), bloodwork confirmed she was holding strong and steady in July. She was happy, alert, engaged, tail up, the center of so many daily routines and rituals. She was integral to our life at Woodhaven. And it shatters me to write about her in the past tense. The house is deafeningly quiet and still without her.

When we took her in for a follow-up exam on October 21 to check on some new thyroid medication, we were shocked to discover Sarah’s kidneys were showing signs of distress.

The weeks since then were filled with an ultrasound, blood-draws, two different antibiotics, probiotics, an appetite stimulant, a switch to kidney-friendly kibble, daily subcutaneous fluids (not a skill we wanted to learn and yet…), constipation, diarrhea, a painkiller that traumatically made her fall over while just sitting in a shoebox, 3 water bowls for easy access, a very busy litter box, and so much stress, worry, hope, and dread.

We all fought so hard.

But it became mournfully clear that we could not cure our Sarah. And all efforts to keep her going would be for our benefit, not hers. So with the deepest love for our beloved kitty, and with profound respect for our responsibility in being her people, we let Sarah go.

The ache is deep and visceral. My whole body, spirit, and heart hurt. I have been magnetically drawn to cats since early childhood. My soul requires cats to be a part of my life. With Woodhaven now catless, I am adrift.

Our last morning together.

If you had told me six years ago that I would be weeping over the loss of Sarah, I would have been utterly confused. Because until five years ago – when Sarah’s brother Zak unexpectedly died – Sarah was a completely different cat. I loved her but I didn’t feel very close to her. After she and Zak grew out of their kittenhood, Sarah barely let me touch her. She was always with Rob, if she was with anyone. Mostly Sarah kept a wary distance from everyone and everything. We just thought she was skittish. It turns out she sort of hated her brother.

Tiny kittens! Zak on the left, Sarah on the right.

Zak and Sarah were best buds for the first year or so. They snuggled, they played, they stayed near each other, they bonded with us and each other. When we brought them home on October 5, 2009, Sarah was the first one out of the carrier. She was bold, curious, and confident. Zak was a bit of a lumbering doofus, super sweet, full of purrs, and always wanting to be where things were happening. He often followed Sarah to make sure he wasn’t missing out on anything. He was the ultimate FOMO (fear of missing out) Cat.

Sarah boldly checking out the kitchen
Zak following (left bottom corner)

As the kittens grew bigger, Zak was much larger than Sarah. 16 sturdy pounds of fluff, Zak walked like a linebacker. Sarah was five pounds smaller and – we realized after Zak died – intimidated and unintentionally bullied by Zak. Sarah lived on edge because she never knew when Zak would want her toy or her food or her person. Zak gravitated towards me, so Sarah avoided me. For about 10 years, I was very close to Zak and appreciated Sarah from a distance. It felt like we had 1.5 cats instead of 2.

Sarah in front on left, Zak behind
Photo taken in August 2016 
They were 7 years old.

In just a matter of days after Zak died after Thanksgiving in 2020, Sarah began blossoming into a new kitty. By the time Christmas arrived, Sarah was transformed.

Beautiful Sarah enjoying being an only kitty
December 2020

Apparently confident her annoying brother was not returning, Sarah relaxed. She was happy, calm, and present. She sat on laps, greeted visitors, allowed me to brush her, and became so snuggly. For the past five years, Sarah lived her best kitty life. Although Zak’s death was a storm of shock and despair, it brought the rainbow of a beautifully peaceful and happy life for Sarah. I am so grateful for rainbows.

And that’s been a bit of a surprise the past few days – the immensity of the gratitude.

I am heartbroken and shattered into a million pieces to never have my Little Girl on my lap again. To feel her warm tummy vibrating on my legs, to feel her head lean into my hand as I scritch her chin, to feel her stretch her front paws with a satisfied sigh as she rearranges herself for the second act of Nap Time, to put off switching laundry loads or making dinner because Sarah is happily on my lap and you simply do not accomplish things when a cat bestows that gift upon you.

Sarah became a football fan
Lots of lap time

But even stronger than the sadness of never feeling Sarah on my lap again is the gratitude.

I am so grateful Rob and I got to be Sarah’s people.

I am grateful she trusted us and felt loved and safe when she took her last breath on my lap.

I am grateful I got 5 years to bond more deeply and fully with her.

I am grateful for that one white whisker she had as a kitten that allowed us to easily tell our black kitties apart, and allowed them to quickly learn their names.

It was the only white whisker she ever had.

I am grateful for her magnificent tail that was a fountain of fluff that curled forward and touched her head when she was happy.

Occasionally referred to as her Teapot Tail

I am grateful for her beautiful aquamarine eyes that slowly blinked back love when I would give her cat kisses by doing the same.

One of our all-time favorite Sarah photos
Those eyes! That tongue!

I am grateful for the videos and photos I have of Sarah’s sweetly fun need to lick condensation off of Rob’s water cups.

Her love of condensation started
very early. Also, she was clearly
our cat! Click here to see
a video of 12-year-old Sarah
enjoying Rob's water cup.

I am grateful that I finally found her favorite toy a few weeks ago after the beloved Potato Head went missing for two panicked weeks.

Potato Head started off with a black cap attached
to a fishing line on a wand. The cap made it 
look like Mr. Potato Head and the name stuck
long after the cap, fishing line, and wand
disappeared. Photo taken June 2022.

I am grateful for our amazing house sitter, Willow, whom Sarah loved and who took some of the best photos ever of our girl.

I can hear this photo! 

 

That tail again! And those eyes!

Willow was crocheting and decided to see if
Sarah would model a coaster. This photo
proves how much Sarah loved Willow.

I am grateful for our dear friend Cathy, who was Sarah’s doctor and helped us surround Sarah with love and prayers as we said goodbye.

I am grateful that God and the Holy Spirit spoke to me as they do and gave me perfect peace that Sarah is so good where she is now and that everything’s gonna be alright.

Most of all, though, I am profoundly grateful for the tears. So very many tears. Because the tears are a direct reflection of the love. I am grateful I opened my heart fully to love Sarah even though I knew a day like Wednesday was eventually likely to happen.

And in the midst of this full-body ache of grief and sadness and longing, I know I will open my heart fully again. When Rob and I are both ready, I will once again open my heart and home to another pair of kittens, offering a life filled with love and treats and laps and the commitment to always do what is best for them. 

Regardless of how much it hurts.

Photo taken Oct 20 -- the day before
the appointment that revealed her
kidney issues.

Rest in peace, Little Girl. We love you so very much.