Saying Goodbye to Kap

Saying Goodbye to Kap was not on my 2025 Bingo Card. Our sweet kitty cat was so incredibly strong, I really thought he had another year in him, if not more. I didn't expect this past Christmas to be our last with him, or that he wouldn't be around for my 30th birthday this month, or John and I's 4th anniversary in November. It's a shock, honestly.

For the last two and a half years Kap dealt with diabetes. At first it was a struggle for John and I to learn how to take care of a cat with diabetes (and wrap our minds around the fact that cats can get diabetes... like, who knew?) but we did. We gave Kap insulin shots twice a day, fed him prescribed food, and did our absolute best to give him the best life possible.

As hard as it was to say goodbye, I think we accomplished our goal. Kap was so loved by us, his brothers, and everyone who had the privilege of meeting him. He was sweet boy. He would greet you at the door, demand some pets, and then lead you to the kitchen for food, because to Kap, every time of the day was time for food. He was also a lover of The Minions and Breaking Bad, as well as The Joe Rogan Podcast and Kill Tony. Most nights he would either sit on the couch with us, or lay down in the same room, and enjoy TV time with us.

Kap was never much of a snuggler, but sometimes he would lean against our legs, or be perched on the back of the couch next to our heads. Which we would always take advantage of for nose boops. Kap was the king of the nose boop. If you presented your pointer finger, he would boop it with his nose. If you presented your nose, he would boop your nose. And then try to lead you to the kitchen for food.

The big favorites were pizza and filet mignon. Any bread or meat, Kap was there too. I called him "our little shark" because if we sat on the couch and tried to eat, he would walk around the couch and coffee table, nose working to figure out where the food was, with his tail standing tall behind him, reminding us of the shark's back fin from Jaws. I would even sing the Jaws theme song as we watched Kap circling our boat, aka the couch. But he wasn't a fan of most fruits or vegetables. So I did learn to present him with a tangerine while making lunch or dinner in order to trick him into thinking we weren't making anything he would want, like quesadillas or PB&Js, because boy oh boy did Kap love bread. If we weren't careful, he would snatch the entire bag of bread or tortillas and try to run away with it, hide, rip through the plastic, and eat to his heart's content. Kap was so smart. Annoyingly smart. But I wouldn't change a thing about him, no matter how many pizzas we lost to him (and it was a lot of pizza).

When we would take Kap to the vet here in Las Vegas, it would always take forever for the vet tech to bring him back to us. At first it was worrisome, but then it became clear after a few visits with the vet techs telling us the same thing each time, that it took so long to bring Kap back to us because everyone that worked there was taking turns holding and loving him because he was such a handsome, sweet kitty cat.

Late 2024, the vet diagnosed Kap with arthritis. Despite jumping up to try and steal food just fine, we'd noticed him limping, so every month for about seven months we took him to the vet to get a shot to help his joints. Kap didn't love those visits, but again, he got so much love and an extra can of food from us that he didn't mind the monthly visits too much. And the shots really helped. Again, that boy was so strong. He could take on anything the vet diagnosed him with.

Until June 2025. Kap started throwing up, and the vomit smelled extremely foul. Even though he was acting normal, walking around and eating and drinking, something about the smell of the vomit didn't sit right with us. Finally we decided to take Kap to an emergency vet and X-Rays showed a lot of liquid in the lower half of his body. The next morning we took him to our vet, who ran his bloodwork and told us that his kidneys and liver were failing. Now, it's common for cats to have kidney disease, and sometimes, if caught quick enough, you can try and come back from it. But for Kap, his kidneys were only functioning at 25%, and the liver was basically past any help the vet could give. So we took Kap home and hoped we would have a little more time with him. The vet said that as long as he was eating and drinking, he could live a few more weeks, maybe even a month.

Kap immediately stopped eating and drinking when we took him home. John even bought him a personal pepperoni pizza from our favorite pizzeria. Kap took one look at the slice and turned away. It broke our hearts because that was the moment we knew we didn't have weeks or a month. Kap would never turned down a slice of pizza if he could get his paws on it.

We tried giving him one more day to try and eat or drink, but all he did was move painfully from place to place in our home. It was time. John hated the idea of Kap not recovering, and I did too, but I also knew we couldn't let Kap suffer anymore. So we agreed that, if Kap hadn't passed on his own by the second morning, we'd take him to the vet.

I believe Kap was truly hanging on as hard as he could for John. Even through his suffering, and having no energy to move, if he heard John's voice, Kap would pick up his head and look for his Pop-Pop. It broke my heart to see Kap in so much pain, and to see him still trying to be there for John. They'd been together since Kap was a kitten. John adopted our little cowboy in Texas, took him home to Northern California, and then on to LA where I came into the picture and became Meemaw. Their bond was true. Twelve years being together. There was so much love. And, when it was time for the vet to do her thing, the last thing Kap saw was Pop-Pop.

It was an honor to be Kap's Meemaw for over three years. I wish I had more time with him. But mostly, I wish John had had more time with Kap. I know twelve years can seem like a long time to outsiders, especially when thinking about animals and how their lives are so much shorter than humans' lives, but Kap was different. He was like a little human in a cat's body. He was smart, sassy, playful, knew what he liked and what he didn't like, and he was brave.

At the time of writing this, we've been without Kap for one week. Seven whole days. I still look for him when I come home. I still grab a can of food as if I'm about to feed him. I still sit on the couch and expect him to jump onto the back, startling me, and lie down. I still expect him to come running when I open a bag of treats.

And, most of all, it breaks my heart I'll never get a nose boop ever again. My Sweet Kapytan, my Kapybara Sir, had the best nose boops. No one can compete. I know over time it will get easier. We'll get his ashes and his urn and have him home next to his big brother, Tiger. We'll miss him every day, but we'll shower the love we wish we could shower on him onto his brothers. I want it to get easier faster, but I also don't. It sounds weird, but the grieving means there was so much love between us and Kap. I don't want to forget him. He will always have a piece of my heart, and John's heart. Forever. I just wish I could have gotten one more nose boop.

Franklin is doing okay. I think he and Mookie (the secret brother, more on that in a future post) knew something was happening. They would sniff Kap and be extra gentle with him. And now Mookie has been very sweet to me and John, and Franklin has been a little sweet but mostly bratty with us. Sometimes Franklin seems like his normal self, but then I'll hear him meow-cry all over the house, seemingly looking for Kap. I think Franklin thinks big brother is still somewhere to be found. He's not eating as much, and I believe he's leaving food in his bowl knowing Kap should come eat it. If Kap were still here, he would have loved to eat Franklin's food. But he's not here, and I wish I could speak cat so I could explain it all to Franklin.

I'm so grateful Franklin isn't alone. I think he'd be very anxious if he didn't have another feline around to keep him company. Mookie only knew Kap for nine months, but I know there was brotherly love there too. No matter how much of a grumpy old grouch Kap pretended to be with his little brothers, he loved them, and they loved him.

This was not an easy blog post to write. The loss of a pet is the loss of a family member. If you are also grieving over a pet, know that it is okay to not be okay. Time really will heal the pain, and bring new joy, but that time will move slowly. If you want to get another pet right away, that's okay. If you want to have a mourning period, or never get another pet again, that's okay too. Just make sure to take care of yourself and talk to someone about your grief. Your feelings are valid. Don't hide them away. Feel your feelings. Grieve. And remember that your pet had an incredible life because you opened your home, and your heart, to them.