Run Free

My heart is heavy as I write this, but I feel the need to document it before time dulls the memory. My sister and I just lost our beloved senior cat, Atari, who had been with us for 13 years. A week ago, he was at the vet, treated with IV fluids, and sent home. Though he was still eating, his health was fragile due to age and a chronic bacterial infection.

Yesterday was my day off. I woke early, as I always do, to feed the cats. Atari was isolated to keep him calm while he recovered. I called his name to check on him, but he didn’t respond. My heart sank when I touched him—he was cold and stiff. I believe he passed between midnight and 2 a.m. Breaking the news to my sister was heartbreaking. Ever since we lost our mother, death—whether human or pet—has been deeply traumatic for me. Still, I summoned the strength to tell her. She gently cleaned up his space and wrapped his body in a blanket while I sat there in shock. Though we had tried to prepare ourselves, nothing truly readies you for loss.

Too devastated to bury him myself, I searched online and found Fur-ever Pet Cremation through Facebook comment threads. Despite not having an official page, their reviews and reasonable pricing gave me comfort. I contacted them, and they offered pickup and delivery—something I was grateful for. They handled everything with such care. When they picked him up, the reality of it sank in. Later, they sent photos of him peacefully laid out in a small funeral setup and at the cremation table. I don’t usually cry, but seeing those images broke me.

Their service included a framed photo, a vial with his hair and whiskers, a stainless urn with his picture, a cremation certificate, wallet-sized photos, and—if requested—an engraved memorial stone with his paw print. These thoughtful touches helped ease some of the pain.

That morning, my sister and I noticed a strong floral scent in the air—something we’ve never used in our home. It lingered for minutes, then disappeared. Maybe it was a sign. We believe it was our mom, coming to guide Atari across the rainbow bridge.

My final words to him: Run free, my love. You did great.