By Stephen Le Quesne
I WANT to write about grief, sadness and feeling vulnerable, but I am unsure as to how to do it, especially as I am not that focused or mentally tuned in. I am currently feeling a deep sense of loss as I write this, hence the desire to write about it, as I lost my cat two days ago. I say lost, but I took the impossible decision of putting her to sleep. So if this column is a bit all over the place, then this is why, but this is also why I am writing, if that makes sense? Smudge the cat was 20 years old, a relic of another time, a true best friend; she had seen it all when it came to my big life events.
I say she was my cat, but she was only truly mine for the past six years or so, as she was the family cat up until then, only really being seen when she needed food or a bit of attention.
However, for the past two and half years she had lived with me, been a part of my daily routine, my weekly food shop, being there when I needed her and vice versa. During this time, we took monthly visits to the vets to check her blood pressure, heart rate, weight etc, which was especially important as she had reached the milestone of 20 years. We had a routine, an unspoken agreement with our daily timetables, and she knew exactly when I would be out all day (whereby she walked upstairs for a deep sleep) or when I was at home a bit more, when she stayed by my side, begged for more food or demanded I sit on the sofa, so she could sit on my lap and fall asleep. We were emotionally bonded, and it is the deepest connection I have ever felt for a pet.
This is probably why I have never really felt sadness and grief like this before. I have had grandparents who have passed away and I felt those losses deeply, but this hits differently, probably because I was with Smudge every day. She was my constant – utterly dependable and non-judgmental, qualities that I related and attached to, especially as politics, governments and social norms are becoming increasingly unstable. We are fluctuating towards right-wing fascism.
Do not worry. I am not going to suddenly switch and do a deep dive into political history and social commentary as I just do not have the energy to. My brain is still processing the loss, and I know it is only really running at about 50%.
This personal loss, which I am trying to process and not run away from, has affected me in surprising ways. It has grounded me, humbled me and made me take stock. It has taught me to check on how kind I am being, to think about others and to appreciate the time I had with Smudge. I have also made sure to think of others more, to try to connect with others and tune in to the simple things. Yesterday, I made sure to deliver a gift to the veterinary practice that looked after her as a thank you. I cannot accurately describe how kind, humble and warm they have been.
These qualities are the ones that I value the most and ones that bring out the best in people. But if we are to take anything from the world we live in today, these attributes are not very “sellable” and do not really form the basis of a good “brand”. Just look at all the toxic male influencers, creating personal wealth and power from the vulnerabilities and disillusionment of others.
If my life with Smudge taught me one thing, it is that even though deep emotional connections can end in feelings of loss and grief, it also brings out the best in us. How we can find courage and strength and durability from nowhere, how we can forget about ourselves and dedicate our time and effort to others, whether human or animal.
My sense of loss has made me realise even more that social media has a lot to answer for… (Wait! I did post one photo of Smudge on Instagram, just as a thank you to her, and within a few hours the stupid social media algorithm was showing me quotes on the importance of pets and the emotional loss of them. The tech companies are effectively making money from my pain and loss. Awful).
Anyway… I think what I am trying to say is that being kind, being humble and loving people in your life gives you a type of strength that cannot be replicated; it makes you truly human and these are qualities that we must hold on to with everything we have.
Stephen Le Quesne is a naturalist, conservationist, forest school leader and nature connection advocate.
