#cw: pet death

[syn0vial]

BG3 Companions' Reactions Following Scratch's Permadeath

The following lines are triggered when a character throws Scratch's ball after he's been permakilled (AKA, killed at camp rather than just as a summon).

Astarion

Good riddance to the dog. Who'd miss that waggy little tail... (devnote: Pretending not to be sad and failing)

Does it have a sad squeak now? Is that even possible?

I suppose I'll just pick it up myself.

Can't believe the stupid dog isn't here to get the stupid ball. (devnote: Pretending not to be sad and failing)

Gale

You were an excellent friend, Scratch - and that's coming from a cat-lover.

I hope there's balls and bones galore, wherever you are...

Poor Scratch. I'm lucky to have met you.

I hope Scratch doesn't miss his ball, wherever he is...

Karlach

I miss my dog.

Here, pup. (devnote: Sadly. The dog is dead and she knows this.)

Why am I doing this to myself?

Scratch should be here. With his family.

Lae'zel

It's not much fun alone.

I really don't know what I thought would happen.

Solo fetch. A miserable pastime.

Can't believe I'm going to say this, but - I miss Scratch.

Shadowheart

I need to stop doing this to myself...

I didn't do this enough, when I had the chance.

I hope Scratch has a new ball to play with, wherever he is...

It's silly... part of me felt like Scratch might still show up for his ball.

Wyll

Fetch isn't much of a solo game.

Damn. I miss the furry fellow.

For old times' sake.

I miss you, Scratch.

Halsin

I hope you are happy, wherever you are.

I am sorry, Scratch

I torment myself - Scratch is not going to come

Poor Scratch. I hope he is at peace.

Jaheira

Enough. This isn't helping anyone.

You deserved better, boy

Gods, but you'd miss the fuss. The noise. Gods above, even the smell.

Pointless, without a pup to chase it.

Minsc

Scratch, come and... oh. How could I forget he was gone, Boo?

No game of fetch will bring Scratch back from death.

I know he is gone, Boo, but... perhaps this is a way of keeping him alive, no?

I miss him, Boo.

Minthara

Everyone assumes I killed the dog. I liked the dog. (devnote: talking to herself. Comic edge to this.)

Scratch reminded me of my first displacer beast. A noble creature.

Withers! Be a good skeleton and fetch that ball. (devnote: joking—doesn't actually expect Withers to fetch the ball she just threw)

Gah. I miss the damn dog. (devnote: surprised by her own feelings)

#cw: pet death #cw: animal death #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #gale dekarios #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #halsin #jaheira #minsc #minthara #shadowheart's are so damn sad dude 😭 she also has unique dialogue with scratch when he's alive #Bg3 scratch #bg3 voicelines

[bearlyfunctioning]

Comic #339: Just around the corner - Website links: Here!

Another extremely difficult to make memorial comic… I may not believe in an afterlife: heaven/rainbow bridge etc. but I would hope if there is any spark of Rio left, that he would linger to wait for Niko. Since they loved each other so much & left only 4 months apart💔

#bearcomic #the bear minimum #thebearminimum #cw: pet death #cw: pet loss #tw pet death #tw pet loss #grief #death #pet cat

[valoisfulcanellideux]

Friends, please go and send Scar some love.

If you have a Twitter account, his Twitter post is here.

If you're not on Twitter, he's also posted here on his YT community.

Rest in Peace, Queen Jellie 💔

#goodtimeswithscar #jellie the cat #cw: animal death #cw: pet death

[kissalopa]

This is Lopa

Four years ago he crossed the rainbow bridge 🌈

My blog is named after my baby boy, my cat Lopa. But somehow I never showed a picture of him here.

I loved him more then anyone in the world. I know that may sound cringe or creepy, but I don't know how to describe what I felt for him. He was like a baby to me 🐈‍⬛ 👶

#kissa rambles #non sims #personal #cat: Lopa #cw: pet death

[zishuge]

Today I gave myself feels thinking about Fang Duobing, Di Feisheng, and Hulijing moving on and aging in a world without Li Lianhua. A world where Li Lianhua isn't there — but then again, he is there, in Lianhualou, and in the townspeople who flock to it, bearing gifts for the miracle doctor who once saved a life, fixed a roof, exposed a conman, comforted a child. Young Fang Duobing used to want to know every little detail about his hero, Li Xiangyi. Now Fang Duobing wants to know every detail about his beloved friend, Li Lianhua. The years pass and fewer people come. But if they remember him, Li Lianhua lives on.

(long post, half meta, half fic, bittersweet)

They travel together, with Hulijing, in Lianhualou. Fang Duobing has nothing better to do, so he takes up detective work again. Di Feisheng has nothing better to do, so he comes along. Everywhere they go, they look for Li Lianhua. And in their journeys, it seems like everywhere they go, someone is talking about Li Xiangyi. Li Xiangyi, who had always been something of a legend, but ever since his reappearance and subsequent (re)disappearance, has seemingly been elevated into something approaching godhood.

you should've seen him, people say, floating across the rooftops in red, cold and beautiful, like an avenging hero out of some novel. wasn't he dead? no — of course he wasn't, li xiangyi would never have been so easily killed. but it was bicha poison, i heard nobody could survive bicha poison. yes, he was definitely dead, and came back to life through dark magic. no, he'd been alive the whole time, just held captive by di feisheng. he tried to kill his shixiong ten years ago and failed, and came back to finish the job. no, his shixiong tried to kill the emperor and li xiangyi came to stop him. the emperor? impossible. yes — don't you know, li xiangyi is the emperor's long-lost son?

All of it only amuses Di Feisheng, but it irks Fang Duobing. The same Fang Duobing, who, when he was younger, would've hungered for every little detail about Li Xiangyi and begged to hear more, now finds it maddening to listen to these strangers talk about him as if they knew him. The world might have known Li Xiangyi, but it had never known Li Lianhua.

Li Lianhua, who could wield Shaoshi like it was a natural extension of his arm, but regularly cut his fingers clumsily slicing radishes and onions. Li Lianhua, who would invariably try to shrug off an attack of bicha poison, but yelped and jumped back from hot oil splatters in the kitchen like a child. Li Lianhua, who frowned when a passing carriage splashed mud onto his robes, but knelt carelessly into the dirt and grass to play with Hulijing.

None of them knew any of that.

But as Fang Duobing and Di Feisheng continue their travels, they begin to encounter other people as well. People who come running when they see Lianhualou in the distance tottering their way. People who come bearing gifts — a woman looking for the shenyi who had helped her with her back pain and also exposed the con artist who had tried to trick her daughter into marriage. A young man coming to thank the doctor who had given his father herbs for stress while uncovering the corrupt official who had falsely accused him of theft. An elderly couple looking for the young man who had helped them thatch their roof before a rainstorm and had given them some medicinal cream before he left. (One middle-aged man with a club, looking for the wangba quack doctor who had exposed his infidelity to his wife — he had left after one look at Di Feisheng, standing silently in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest and dao strapped across his back.) People who greet Hulijing like an old friend.

Fang Duobing listens eagerly to every story they tell him, and in return, he tells them about his brilliant, kind, exasperating friend. Di Feisheng rolls his eyes every time, but Fang Duobing notices he never walks away either. They don't talk about it. But it’s as if Li Lianhua returns, however briefly, during those visits; in those moments, Fang Duobing can almost see him standing there, bending down to pet Hulijing alongside these old friends as she grins her little doggy grin and wags her tail. She escorts their guests to the door, and sits in the doorway after they leave, looking out at the world as though waiting. He doesn't ask if Di Feisheng can see him too. They sit and share wine after these visits, and eat the fruit that the visitors bring, until Di Feisheng can stand the heavy silence no longer and pushes Fang Duobing outside to spar. Hulijing follows faithfully, as always.

(fang duobing had brought home a puppy, once. he can't remember where he found it, but he remembers that he had held it in his lap in his wheelchair, eager to show it to his uncle before taking it home to his mother. his uncle had glared, and told him that dogs were only useful to guard the house, and tianji manor already had guards, human ones, and that fang duobing would do better to focus on his swordplay rather than waste time on such useless and frivolous things. he had taken the puppy away and fang duobing had never seen it again. it wasn't until those blurry months as he rode across the countryside looking for li lianhua, hulijing trotting along ever so loyally at his side, that he realized this was just another way that shan gudao and li xiangyi were opposites.)

The years pass, and there are fewer and fewer people who come. One day Fang Duobing wakes up with the unbearable realization that he is now older than Li Lianhua had ever been, would ever be, and is unable to get out of bed for a good half a shichen. Di Feisheng leaves him be.

The years pass, and Di Feisheng grows older too. There are lines on his face, snowy white beginning to thread through his jet-black hair. Fang Duobing wants very much to tease him about it, but the words catch in his throat when he looks too closely at the signs of time on Di Feisheng's face. What a precious and altogether rare thing it is, to age.

The years pass, and Hulijing grows older too. Fang Duobing finds that more and more often, Hulijing can no longer keep up with him when he goes riding. He stops going riding. She gets cold more easily now too, and more and more often Fang Duobing wakes in the morning with Hulijing curled up under the covers next to him, her wet nose shoved into his armpit. He holds her close and thinks about Li Lianhua shivering in his arms.

--------------------

It's been nearly a year since their last visitor, but today there is an old man. He comes in the morning, bringing a basket of plums. A long time ago, he says, a young man who lived here saved my life. I had been poisoned, he says, by my son who wanted my money and my lands. The doctors said there was no cure. But then the young man came and performed a miracle. He saved my life. He saved my life.

Fang Duobing knows it was no miracle that saved him. He asks for the old man's hand and it is given readily, albeit bemusedly. He presses his fingers to the inside of the man's wrist, and is greeted with a whisper-faint, gentle thrum of yangzhouman — a soft hello from a much-beloved friend. You fool, he thinks dazedly, caught somewhere between overwhelmed that here is someone, inside whom a piece of Li Lianhua lives on, and so bitterly angry. What had it cost? Some hours, days, weeks? He doesn't let himself think of what another week might have afforded them in those wild final days, in their desperate search for a cure. Fang Duobing gives the old man back his hand and blinks back the sting of tears. He cannot talk about Li Lianhua today. He apologizes and tells him that the man he is looking for is traveling and won't be back for a few days, but that Fang-mou will pass on the message. Before he leaves, the man leans down to rub at Hulijing's ear. My old friend, he says, like me, you, too, are truly old now.

After the man leaves, Fang Duobing folds himself into a sit on the floor of Lianhualou and gathers Hulijing into his arms. Gently — her joints are stiff now, and he can't haul her around, can't roughhouse with her the way he used to. Di Feisheng comes down the stairs from where he had been listening; he stands behind Fang Duobing and places a warm, steady hand on his shoulder. At the edge of his vision, near the door, Fang Duobing can see the hazy hem of green robes. If he looks up, he wonders brokenly, what would he see? The face of a man forever frozen in youth? Or a face lined with age, snowy white beginning to thread through jet-black hair? He suddenly finds that he cannot bear to find out.

Fang Duobing knows. He knows that the myth and the outlandish rumors about proud, arrogant, beautiful Li Xiangyi will never die. But he also knows that one day, there will be no one else who comes to Lianhualou; no one left who remembers gentle, sly, infuriating Li Lianhua. One day, the old man will pass on and the piece of Li Lianhua that he carries with him will fade as well. And one day… Fang Duobing presses his forehead against the soft fur of Hulijing's neck where it has gone white and thin with age. He closes his eyes and breathes.

--------------------

Years and years and years later, Fang Duobing is awakened from where he has fallen into a light doze reading in his chair by a soft knock on the door. There is a woman standing outside, holding a small basket of pears. I think I remember this building, she says. I must've only been six years old, but I had run off and lost my parents. I fell down in the street and skinned my knees. A kind gege helped me and gave me a piece of candy. He said he would walk me home but I said I didn't know whether I should tell him where I lived. He laughed and asked if it would help if I knew where he lived. He pointed to the most fantastical and wild house I had ever seen. I think it was this place. Xiansheng, does he live here? Who was he? Do you know him?

Fang Duobing smiles and invites her inside. On the bed, the small white dog that Di Feisheng has named, ridiculously, Baigujing, raises her head and thumps her tail a few times in hello. Di Feisheng looks up from where he is writing a letter at the table. Fang Duobing leads the woman over and waves at her to sit down. He sits across from her, ignoring Di Feisheng's eyeroll, and offers her a piece of candy. He always keeps candy around. Fang Duobing smiles once more and says, if you'd like to know — there is so much I would like to tell you.

#i just... the idea that xiaobao just wants li lianhua to live in any way he can #if he can't live on in reality xiaobao will make damn sure he lives on in someone's memory #something something you die a second death when there is no one left to remember you something something legacy #one day there will only be fang duobing and di feisheng #fang duobing who was li lianhua's friend #and di feisheng who was li xiangyi's equal #but it is not this day #i hurt myself #mysterious lotus casebook #cw: pet death #it's only very vaguely mplied but just in case #my ramblings #how long does transferred inner power stay in someone else's body? *shrug* #that's probably not how the force works #i write economic research for a living why am i suddenly writing mlc fic i haven't written fic in 10 years THE BRAINROT IT IS REAL #in my mind these are simple townspeople not caught up on jianghu things & thus never knew that li lianhua was li xiangyi - whoever that is #baigujing is “white bone spirit” from journey to the west bc i thought di feisheng would find it funny #but did journey to the west even exist yet in lhl time? probably not? IDK i'm uncultured.

[3gremlins]

"milo"

back in december (2023), some of my friends had to say goodbye to their cat "milo" so i did this little painting for them in memoriam. Obviously a painting isn't really enough for such a loss, but it was the best i could do (hopefully it helped a little).

watercolors and gouache on handmade cotton paper

#my art #q #cats #cat #illustration #painting #watercolor #watercolor painting #watercolors #pet painting #cw: pet death

[bleaksqueak]

cw pet death under the cut

Well, I guess I largely vanished for the past couple of days for some people. We unexpectedly lost two of our ratties, one of which was one I had a close bond with, so that sure knocked me out for a day. I've been taking care of one of our little old ladies, Sammy, and we expected she would leave us fairly soon, but we lost Willow and Abbie within just a couple of days of each other instead. Have some cute photos of baby abbie and willow since they were Very Loved and had happy lives. Baby Abbie! When we saw how tiny she was (stunted growth, runt) and her little broken tail we had to take her home with us... somehow, miraculously, she could still move the whole tail! It's a mystery how it broke in the first place, and no one knew when we got her. We never had it amputated since it wasn't causing her any distress, and it just over time came to look like a little pikachu tail to us. She was my little heart rat and was glued to me near constantly.

all growed up button:

"FOUL TARNISHED...." And baby Willow!!

So cute in her pot pie the incredibly sweet /sadcute photos of her mommy, Bonnie (still with us!) protecting her the day we adopted them. They were adopted together due to their previous owners having to move and not being able to keep them. Bonnie was convinced we were going to steal her baby, so she kept sitting on her like this:

Willow was curious and wanted to make friends faster than Bonnie wanted, but Bonnie warmed up and finally stopped guarding so heavily. Part of her warming up included her adopting me, so uh... rat mom? She treats me like a baby rat. Mom, I'm a full grown Rat, thank you. Willow was ***fascinated*** sitting and watching Resident Evil 4. She sat through the whole game and any time a loud noise would happen she'd ZOOP back into a sleeve...then poke back out, ears perked and whiskers going. She did the same thing last christmas when we opened presents, so RE4 gets called "CHRISTMAS 4" in our house. also to the other ratty keepers out there, don't worry, the little cage is only a nursery/hospital cage and playtime cage, they lived in a giant critter nation with lots of friends. Anyway, I'm a little sad still so I wanted to share some cute photos and celebrate them instead. We're probably going to be looking around at the local breeders to see if anyone has any baby girls ready for adoption.

#photos #rats #cw: death #cw: pet death #cute photos and cute comments under the cut though #since this is to celebrate them #my sweet little ratties #it's part of owning little animals with short lifespans #the joy they give outweighs the pain of losing them to me at least #and I always look forward to getting to spoil a new generation when one generation leaves #we still have bonnie / lei lei / sammy / wednesday / gizmo and coco #we had eight total in our mischief before #so I suppose we might be looking at getting two or more new little ones #depending on what the local area has and if there are already bonded siblings #willow and abbie both named after two of the soli characters #in our house we have a little headcanon that when they leave they go to a little rattie afterlife train station #so we were saying abbie had to go pick willow up at the station

[treason-and-plot]

“What do you mean, Connor passed out drunk? Where are his parents?” says Anita.

“I forget. Gone on a trip overseas somewhere? It’s alright, Mum, it’s not like he’s an alcoholic or anything, he was just upset because his bird died. Like, really upset. Like, crying. We had to have a burial for it and everything. It was pretty intense. But can you imagine getting so upset over a bird, for God’s sake? I mean, come on. It’s pathetic.”

“You can’t judge someone for grieving the loss of a beloved pet, Saffron,” says Anita. “It doesn’t matter if the pet was a dog or cat or a hamster or a canary. It can hit people really hard. That poor boy. I feel for him, especially with his parents not being there. Does he have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope,” says Saffron.

“So he’s all alone?”

“I think he said the maid comes tomorrow. Anyway Mum, he’s eighteen. He’s an adult. He’s not a baby, for God’s sake-“

“I'm sorry, but Joël can't come and pick you up. You can’t leave Connor there alone,” says Anita.

“What are you talking about?” says Saffron. “Of course I can.”

“I can't allow you,” says Anita. “You need to stay there overnight with him.”

“What the hell, Mum-“

“Listen to me, Saffron. He’s had a lot of to drink and there’s always a possibility he could vomit and die from pulmonary aspiration. He cannot be left alone. Do you understand?”

“Oh my God, Connor’s not going to die, Mum. That’s crazy.”

“No it isn’t. Did I tell you about the time we found a girl not much older than you dead in the back of a car? She and a couple of friends had gone out clubbing, and she’d had way too much to drink so her friends had put her in the back of their car to sleep it off and left her there while they continued partying. She vomited while she was passed out, inhaled the vomit into her lungs and choked to death. Do you really want to risk the same thing happening to Connor?”  

“So you’re literally telling me that I have to sleep next to him. In the same bed,” says Saffron.

“I think you have a moral obligation as his friend to look after him,” says Anita. “That is what I’m telling you.”

#saffron #Anita #back to bridgeport #5 years later #cw: pet death #tw: pet death #tw: death #cw: death

[dduane]

My cat got put down this morning and I didn’t get to be there with her at the end. You’ve lost cats, do you have any advice for dealing with the loss of a pet?

(sigh) Peter and I have been exactly where you are on this one.

His little cat Kasha (she was always primarily His: gods know there's no altering that particular cat-mathematics once it's settled) was 12-ish years old when she had been left at the vet's to have a bladder problem checked out. The problem turned out to be a massive tumor: inoperable—and even if it had been operable, she wouldn't have survived long. "It'd be kinder to let her go without waking her up," the vet said.

And at that point there was no way for us to get to her in time to be with her when it happened. The deed was done, and we were left without even anything (—anyone, dammit) to bury.

It hurt then. It still hurts now. But there are some kinds of pain that get—with time—a little easier to bear. I say nothing of schedules: all our mileages vary. But for my own part, I'd rather have the pain than the knowledge that I was (or was purposefully making myself) incapable of it.

...Whether the loss is accidental or planned, it's no easier to deal with a pet's death than it is with a human's. It is, after all, Mortality all the way down. The only advice I can give both wholeheartedly and professionally is not to attempt to avoid dealing with it. What you resist persists (as the philosopher says), and the pain merely compounds itself with the attempts to push it away.

So grieve. Cry as and when you must. Withdraw, if necessary, when necessary. Don't let anyone shame or cheat you out of the expression of your pain. To this end, there's no legal regulation that commands you to explain the cause of your grief to people. Just say "it's a family thing, I can't discuss it" and let the storm of the moment blow through. Your grief, and your acceptance of it, is part of your pet's memorial.

And when you're up to it, enact what more physical memorial rites you can—and whatever ones you choose—to give you a place to "bury" the pain (for the body's a shell, and matters as much or as little as you choose: but pain takes much, much longer to decay). It's no accident that one of the bitterest passages in the whole of the Odyssey is when after twenty years Odysseus comes home and sees his poor broken-down old dog Argos dying on a dungheap, and (being in disguise and in fear for his life) can't openly acknowledge him.

...The rites you enact will matter. Say your goodbyes to the companion as if they were with you to say goodbye to: speak to the chair they liked, the kitty bed, the place under your desk (or on it). Commend them to the Next Thing, whatever that may be. And once this is done, take a deep breath and ...keep going. It's all we can do. But, more than usual, we can know that it's what the lost one would have wanted for us.

Meanwhile: we're both thinking of you. Hang in there.

#cw: death #cw: pet death

[omgpurplefattie]

Mephisto Pa-Miu

April 6, 2008 - November 17 2022

Taking a page from @evillordzog 's book, I will memorialise my cat by blazing this post. Look what a wonderful cat I had until today! I loved him very much.

#cw: pet death #pet death cw #cat memorial #cat pictures please

[iheartvmt]

Please pray for me. This morning my big dog, Luthien, passed away.

We diagnosed her with an inoperable heart tumor a little over 6 months ago, and had been watching for worsening symptoms to know when to say goodbye, and she hadn't shown any. But one way this tumor can kill is by causing rapid heart failure, either from an arrhythmia or from cardiac tamponade. So it wasn't a surprise or sudden, not really, but it was so very quick. She did her normal morning routine -- ate her breakfast, pottied normally, sniffed the "newspaper" (the telephone pole at the end of the driveway), and hopped into the car to come with me to work. I stopped at the gas station for coffee, and when I came back out, she was collapsed and barely breathing. She was gone less than a minute later.

Once I'm feeling better, I'll probably write up the case study, partly to help me process, but also because the type of tumor she had is considered rare in dogs and would be good for y'all students to read.

#personal #cw: pet death #cw: death #my pets #dogs #cancer #oncology #prayer request #Catholic #Christian #cw: cancer

[syn0vial]

very amused that the voice direction for astarion’s reactions to scratch’s death just says “pretending not to be sad and failing” and neil newborn was like, “so he’s full-on sobbing through all of these, gotcha”

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #neil newborn #cw: animal death #cw: pet death

[sixhours]

Our 16yo cat passed in his sleep yesterday. My daughter had taken to calling him Old Man Boops (I don’t know why?) so today I boop in tribute to our old man cat:

#rip pip #random #cw: pet death

[phoenix-flamed]

Another Life Update under the Read More, and last one for a while:

The doctor had us come to the clinic so that he could show us the latest x-rays they had done on Riley, and so that he could talk with us about the situation. There was fluid in Riley's chest and abdomen, and with everything that was going on and the toll it was already taking on him, the prognosis for his recovery wasn't good.

So we had to say goodbye to our baby bug. He tried his best to pull through, and he was purring and being sweet right up 'til the very end.

#Out of the Flames #TW: Pet Death #CW: Pet Death #gonna miss him and his sweet little face and his sweet little meows and him always trying to get more and more pettings

[very-grownup]

Ivan was the best cat in the world. He was the best natured cat, the friendliest cat, but above all, he was the loudest cat.

I didn't adopt Ivan, I found Ivan and he immediately decided he was my cat and lived in my apartment.

It was late March, which in Saskatchewan is still winter, but winter with warm breezes and sunshine. I was nearing the end of my first (and last) year of law school. I was in a pretty bad place when one Sunday morning I was woken up by what sounded like a cat being tortured to death. My apartment was at the back of the building, looking out on the parking lot, so I put on my bathrobe and looked there. Nothing. I looked in the strip of space between my building and the neighbouring building. Nothing. I went to the front of the building. Nothing. I went across the street from my building and past several cars until I found a white kitten under one of them, unharmed and relaxed, periodically meowing like some kind of creature from hell. The kitten was around four or five months old and happy to be scooped up and brought into my apartment. I tried to put him in my bathroom to isolate him from Tir because who knows what the health status of a random screaming kitten you found under a car is.

This did not last.

Tir and the kitten immediately took to each other while I had friends come over to help me make and put up FOUND CAT posters.

FOUND WHITE KITTEN VERY LOUD

I never got any responses to my found posters. I called the shelter to see if anyone had reported losing a white kitten, but no one ever claimed this incredibly friendly little creature. Later, my mother theorized that he was dumped by an owner who couldn't handle the noise.

Loud, bumbling, and personable, I named the kitten (Lord) Ivan after the hunky but comparatively dim cousin of the protagonist of Lois McMaster Bujold's Vorkosigan novels.

When Ivan went to the vet to be neutered, they determined he was deaf by the scientific method of how he slept through all the animal noises in the back, heavy objects being dropped directly behind him, and shouting near him.

Ivan was a cat who seemed to have been put in this world for the sole purpose of counteracting the stereotype of cats being aloof, particular, restrained. Ivan would have loved you. Ivan loved everyone, animals and people. He didn't register if someone wasn't equally loving in return.

Ivan loved playing fetch. He won over several people who later became cat people by his enthusiasm for fetch. His favourites were pens, but he was also a fan of combs, screwdrivers, popsicle sticks, and knives. In later age he still carried these things around in his mouth, announcing his finds.

He loved being near your face, on your shoulder, and was proactive about it. If you bent over to tie your shoe? That was an invitation for Ivan to jump on your back and climb up to your shoulder. Even if you were a tradesperson he'd never met before trying to get a job done.

He was incredibly clumsy. He once fell off a bookshelf in the middle of the night and landed on the vacuum cleaner, turning it on.

He loved being vacuumed.

He loved cuddling. He loved grooming his siblings and snuggling with them. He loved sleeping on your head.

When my mother's cancer reached the point she was in bed more often than not, Ivan would curl up on her chest and purr, and she'd hum for him.

Until I figured out how to protect it, Ivan figured out that my alarm clock was what woke me up and would knock it off the dresser if he wanted me to get up and feed him.

Ivan once took a nap in a planter full of cacti.

Ivan rolled with everything, from meeting new animals and people, to travel, to being plopped in strange houses, and even his own injuries. He was a clown of a cat in motion and a beacon of comfort and zen when at rest.

He was the best boy and my life and home feel empty without him.

Love you forever, Lord Ivan the World's Loudest Cat.

#lord ivan the world's loudest cat #cw: pet death

[fullscoreshenanigans]

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#cw: pet death #//////////////// #///////////////////// #//////////////////////////// #/////////////////////////////////////////// #//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// #////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// #/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// #/// had to put one of my cats down last night #/// went as well as it could and it helps immensely that she was able to pass away peacefully in my arms #/// but yk‚ it's never easy #/// we'll see what the week brings #/// obligatory if you have pets and are able give them an extra hug #Not TPN