luna – The Commaphile

Hey sweetheart,

So today would have been your 19th birthday. You know what that would have meant: mostly a normal day, but with a full can of food for both breakfast and dinner, complete with an evening serenade and even more scritchies and smooches than usual all day long.

Alas.

It was…I don’t want to say it was a hard day for me and your mom, but definitely a melancholy day. We miss you every day, but passing the milestones without you feels extra strange.

It’s funny. I was thinking a lot about you yesterday without even putting it together that today would be your birthday. I saw a picture of you on the little Google screen we keep in the kitchen—it was one of the last pictures I took of you, when you weren’t really getting around anymore. You were lying on the couch in my office, covered up with a blanket.

Anyway, I couldn’t get that photo out of my head all day. I went for a walk after work and I was thinking a lot about your last week or so. It’s a good thing I was wearing sunglasses so it wasn’t obvious that I was getting a little leaky. I wish we could gotten you some relief before you found it on your own. You know we tried. But I’m so glad we had those last few days to fill you up with love. I’m sure you hated having to be carried everywhere and all the other little indignities. Having you close to us, and seeing us trust us to take care of you, meant absolutely everything. I would have done it forever.

(A little tangent about seeing that particular photo: that screen just pulls up random photos from the last I-don’t-know-how-long on my camera roll. There are still plenty of good pictures of you that pop up, but the way it works now, we’re going to get to a point fairly soon where the ones it shows us will be mostly from when you weren’t at your best. Well. You know we have probably literally thousands of pictures of you from over the years, pictures of you at your sassiest, judgiest, laziest, craziest, Luniest. I’m going to mix it up to make sure we always get plenty of those.)

We have a new little fuzzball in the house now. We adopted Ginger in June, and she’ll be six months old next week. It’s been quite a change. You were pretty much always a little lady, whereas Ginger is 75% battering ram. When we adopted you, the shelter told us you were four months old; when we took you to the vet for the first time, they told us you were probably closer to six months (I know you always knew we sort of arbitrarily assigned your “birthday”). At any rate, unless they were both low, I want you to know that you were a really good kitten. You were always so chill, the perfect companion for working from home.

Ginger not so much, but she’s learning. She’s just so different from you. She’s playful and rambunctious, and you weren’t that way so much, even when you were little. She managed to fracture her tail last week, and we don’t even know how she did it. Between that and getting all her vaccinations, we’ve already made more trips to the vet with her than you had in probably your first five years with us. I think at this point we’re good up through her first yearly checkup, but believe me when I tell you I’m knocking on wood as I write that.

On the flip side, she’s much more comfortable with the carrier and the car than you ever were. I think that’s the only situation where I’d apply the word “chill” to her. Remember the first time we put you in the car to take you somewhere, and you both puked and pooped before we got out of the neighborhood?

And in some ways she’s so much like you that it hurts (sometimes literally). I’m sitting in my office chair right now writing this, and she’s right behind me, making me scooch forward to the edge of the seat. How many work days did you and I spend in exactly the same position? How did she know how to do that? I certainly didn’t teach her. She just jumped up and nosed her way back there like it was her birthright.

We gave her a few of your things. I know you never really cared that much about your toys. She has a bunch of them, and really likes a couple. She’s also using your food bowls. But my favorite thing is your tower. You spent so much time in it, I wasn’t sure if she would ever use it—it has to smell like you; there’s still a bunch of your fur in it. But she took to it right away, and it’s one of her favorite places to lounge. Sometimes it breaks my heart to see her in it, but mostly it brings me joy.

Luna sleeping in her tower from 2011. — Luna sleeping in her tower from 2011

Ginger being goofy in the same tower in 2026. — Luna sleeping in her tower from 2011

I wish you could know her. You would hate her, but I have a feeling she would absolutely adore you. It’s so hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that you two never existed at the same time. Her birthday was March 22 (we’re more sure of that than we were of yours). That puts it exactly three months after we lost you. I don’t put a lot of stock into stuff like that, but I have to admit, the symmetry of it is comforting.

You were always a demanding taskmaster, but you made Brandi and me into pretty goddamned good cat parents, and that’s something I’m really proud of. You also really spoiled us. Ginger has a tough act to follow.

You’re my heart. I’ll always miss you.

With all my love,

Daddy

TW: pet loss

The vet’s office called this afternoon and said Luna was ready to be picked up. So Brandi and I went and got her and brought her home, one last time.

It was eight days ago that we lost her. Here’s what I wrote at the time:

Brandi was the one who wanted a cat.

Which isn’t to say I didn’t want a cat; it’s just that she was more active about it. That’s a fair summary of our relationship, actually.

Picture it: Troy, Ohio, February 2008. I’m back home after a short work trip, and Brandi asks if I want to visit the Miami County Animal Shelter on Saturday morning. You know…“just to look.”

Sure.

In the cat area, Brandi’s eyes went wide. So many cats. After a moment, she zeroed in on a little calico. It turned out to be an asshole. But while she went to say hello, I scanned the room to see how the cats were reacting to us.

And there she was. On the far wall, a little striped kitty, poking her front leg out of her cage and beckoning with her paw. I nudged Brandi. “I think that one wants you.” Brandi got her out of the cage; she never went back in. We adopted her (she cost $40), took her home, and named her Luna.

At first, it was a lot. She went into heat almost immediately. Then we discovered she had ringworm, so we had to quarantine her for a month. (Were we strict about observing said quarantine? We were not. We did at least change clothes anytime we went in to visit her, which we did often, hence one of her many nicknames: Kittypants.)

She went into heat one more time before we could get her spayed. Brandi was working a crazy schedule at the time; so she could sleep, I stayed in the living room while Luna yowled all night.

But we got through. I had recently started working remotely; Luna and I bonded hard. She would sit with me in my office chair while I worked during the day and sleep in my arm or on my legs at night. Brandi had to catch up as her schedule normalized, but she did. And for nearly 18 years, Luna was the best little friend, fuzz monster, bed hog, reading buddy, couch companion, office mate, and general supervisor we ever could have asked for.

Luna left us around 7:30 this morning. She was in bed, on her pillow and blanket, with mommy and daddy there to let her know she was safe and loved. So well loved.

I’m glad we got to spend so much time together. It was never going to be enough.

~September 15, 2007 (born)/February 9, 2008 (adopted) – December 22, 2025

It’s been a weird few days since then. We had Luna for nearly eighteen years, and for her to now be gone is kind of surreal. Over all that time, your mind makes space for patterns and rituals—some you aren’t even consciously aware of—that are suddenly over.

No one screaming you awake to demand breakfast before sunrise. No one knocking over cups because she’s thirsty (or just wants attention). No one chewing on every bag or scrap of plastic you put down and forgot about for one second. No one underfoot when you’re carrying groceries or laundry. No one to say goodbye to when you leave, or to greet you with a cheerful chirp and roll when you get home. No one crawling into your lap when you’re trying to read, or standing in front of your monitor when you’re trying to write, or snoring on the end of the couch when you’re trying to watch a movie. No one thundering up and down the stairs at night, or standing on your chest and pawing at your face (or sometimes placing her cold wet nose directly on your eyelid) because you’re not sleeping in a position that’s comfortable for her.

Coming when it did, it has certainly made the holidays…I don’t know, pick your adjective—difficult? Melancholy? Bittersweet? We’re still finding our joy where we can, and it’s impossible for Brandi and me to talk about Luna without a lot of laughter. We were just really hoping we’d get to enjoy one more Christmas with our girl.

In my life, I’ve known and been close to a fair number of animals, but Luna is really only the second that has been “mine.” The first was a Chow-Lab mix named Cupid that I got as a puppy when I was in high school. In a very odd coincidence, Cupid’s adoption date was February 10 (1992); Luna’s was February 9 (2008). We lost Cupid on December 20 (2005); Luna passed on December 22.

Of course, when I went to college in 1995, Cupid stayed with my parents. I was back home often after that, sometimes for extended periods, and she and I were always close. But by the time she passed, she hadn’t been a part of my everyday for ten years. Luna, on the other hand…we were together nearly 24/7 for her entire life. Getting back to a routine with a cat-shaped hole in it after the holidays is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve done.

I’ll have another post at some point with some fun stories and good memories of Luna. But for now, I wanted to make sure she got a little tribute on the day she came home for good.

Love you, Tunie.

Tag: luna

Dear Luna

Bringing Our Girl Home