Farewell, Coco
A tribute to my life and love, Coco.
On August 9, 2025, I made the impossible decision to send Coco—my cat of six years—over the Rainbow Bridge. She was more than 20 years old. Although she had several ongoing health issues and had started to decline more severely toward the end, she was still spry and social in her final hours. She was celebrated by all and her memory will live on indelibly in my heart.
This post is too long to fit into individual email boxes. I didn’t even choose some of the best photos of Coco when she was outside or with friends. I encourage you to click to read the entire post, as well as view the photo album I’ve created of my favorite photos and videos. Let me know if this link doesn’t work for you for whatever reason, and we’ll figure it out.
I did not choose the name Coco. I called her many names including “baby” and I became fond of one of my friend’s monikers, “Mama Coco.” At some point in our time together, I decided to dub her Coco Green Smith. No one really knew about that since I didn’t advertise it, but it comforted me to give her a full name that connected her to mine. It also honored her striking green eyes.
We will never know Coco’s breed or origins for sure. One time I got curious and researched her possible breed in a foolhardy attempt to apply for pet insurance (most services top out at 13). What came up for me at the time that seemed to fit her personality and image traits the best was a rare breed called Chantilly-Tiffany. What I read at the time seemed to suit her perfectly, but a more thorough read of the Wikipedia entry states that they were never bred with green eyes. Other pages say that they have a quiet chirp for a meow, are very particular, adore their human companions and will follow them around, require a lot of brushing. When I adopted Coco, she was already deaf, so I’ll never know if her high-volume meows were normal or an extension of not being able to hear herself anymore.
Coco was adopted from a shelter at age 2 by her previous companion. As I pieced together her history and thought about how adorable she must have been as a kitten, I wonder if she was rejected and ostracized by the breeders? What if she was too unique? Mostly because I cannot locate another black cat breed that seems to suit her accurately, I like to imagine that she Coco was a rare breed of cat who was not fully appreciated in her youth, and that both I and her previous companion rescued her, giving her the micro celebrity status she deserved.
I pretty much decided to adopt Coco sight unseen. I felt an undeniable pull to her even before I had seen a picture of her or met her in person. In 2019, I had finally decided to adopt a cat. After a string of failed relationships with people who were allergic to cats, I finally had decided to take the plunge. When I met a new beau who wasn’t allergic, I proceeded forwarded, determined not to be stopped by potentially disruptive companions. I tried Cafe Neko, which, at the time, hosted only FELV/FIV-positive cats and had strict adoption procedures. I could pay to meet kitties in the cat cafe and put in a request to adopt one, but my application would be subject to waitlists and high competition and other possible delays. It was highly likely that I could get attached to a perfect adoptee, only to have her go to someone else who had requested her first. Since adopting from the resource physically closest to me was such a complicated process, I put out a desperate plea on Facebook:
I got several warm wishes and some suggestions for resources and a possible connection that ultimately didn’t pan out. I also received a private message from an (at the time) acquaintance in the theatre community that went something like this:
I don’t have a kitten, but I do have a 14-year old cat who is wreaking havoc in my home and I desperately need her to move out. I would love to find her a new home where she can be free and happy.
And so I made the pilgrimage via bike to Ballard, again, not even sure if the timing would work out. Both of our schedules were overly packed and I was going to be traveling for a week in June (Coco and I met in April). I made my way upstairs, unsure what to expect, and then she came around the corner and turned to face me. I fell in love with every bit of her immediately: her dignified demeanor as she greeted me (which I later learned she did only for company), her green eyes, her little foopa that slung and sloshed around when she walked toward me and back, letting me admire every bit of her. She weighed about 9 pounds and had a beautiful and lustrous dark coat. I was sure she didn’t look a day over 8, but I also don’t know that much about cat ages. My friend and I made arrangements for early July so that I could fully introduce her to my home and be available. My boyfriend at the time and I broke up about a month later. She never seemed to warm up to him anyway.
Coco terrorized my apartment and my life when she moved in, constantly scampering and meowing and sometimes marking the floor by peeing by my head and the front door to try to get my attention. We were constantly getting into fights about her food. She could only eat wet food because she was missing so many teeth. She didn’t like shreds and only ate pâté or chunky gravies. She disliked chicken, salmon, and most tuna combos. After many months of trial and error, we finally found a good location for both of her litter boxes and a brand/style of food that came in expensive beef and duck flavors. Of course, they eventually stopped manufacturing her favorite flavor, but that became part of our journey as well. She also eventually figured out the perfect places to sleep, including the foot of my bed, or curled up on top of me while I slept on my side, or anywhere where I had previously been sitting and thoroughly warmed up for her or was planning to sit or lay down (perhaps to warm it up for me). Looking through years of old videos and photos reminds me of how silly and sweet she was. Unfortunately, I never captured some of her more extreme moments, like jumping from the floor to the windowsill in my old apartment. I believe once I captured one of her dramatic bursts, where she would suddenly wake up from a deep sleep and meow. If I wasn’t within her eye line, I often had to move so she could see me and stop. It was very adorable.
Then the COVID-19 pandemic changed our lives forever. When we were eventually released from Lockdown, I came to the realization that I would have been lost without her. I was one of the few people among my peers who was quarantined alone and without a necessary job to go to, and I was so thankful for her presence and encouragement to focus on the here and now. She didn’t know what was going on outside, and sometimes it only made sense to sit and pet her or to laugh at her silliness. When I had therapy, I often made a joke that she was “Coco-regulating” me whenever I struggled during a particularly sensitive session. I couldn’t have made it without her, and I am forever grateful for her companionship during some of the darkest moments.
Being home all the time, she soon became a celebrity at my work, even making it into my bio and getting her own emoji. She would screech in the background of client calls, audio recordings and tutorials, and insist on being held while I transcribed meeting notes with one hand. As she aged and I transitioned to my next job, I missed the halcyon days of when I could easily bring a moment of joy into the mundanity of work.
One July, or maybe it was November—her declines occurred in dramatic bursts every 6 months—I confirmed that she had lost nearly 4 pounds due to failing kidneys and hypothyroidism. We started a new medication routine that we maintained until the end. It was at that time I fully acknowledged she wouldn’t be around forever. I had a small serious talk with myself when I adopted her that I most likely would be the one to shepherd her into her afterlife, but since I was at the onset of our companionship, I didn’t dwell. In this moment as her potential demise became more tangible, I accepted that I was now the carer for a geriatric cat (according to the pet insurance provider I had looked at) and I would be responsible for the next step.
Eventually I changed jobs and started a new education journey and Coco continued to slow down. There would be a dramatic burst that prompted me to call the vet, a series of tests, and then a newly adjusted equilibrium. She’d spend most of her days sleeping, often taking my spot on the bed after I finished getting up. She still screeched for food and insisted I go to bed around 11 pm (I just had to be in bed, not necessarily asleep). Earlier this year, we were gifted a tremendously glorious heated pillow that responded to her weight so she didn’t overheat, and she basically lived in it for hours at a time, sleeping the day and night away.
For a time as I prepared to leave the country, I thought she may find peace in a new home where she could bring as much joy as she brought me to one of my dear friends. She was stable for the most part, and if I could find her a home, she could live forever. But no one could take her. Either they had other cats or their lifestyle wasn’t conducive to adopting an elderly cat. I already knew it wasn’t feasible to take her with me, but it was becoming more unlikely I would find her a new home.
Then in late July of this year, her decline became overly apparent. Whatever invisible threads she was using to hold herself together almost came completely unraveled in the matter of a few weeks. One morning, she couldn’t keep anything inside from either end and started to hide. She rarely hid unless she was violently ill. I took her to the vet immediately where I had a frank discussion about euthanasia and the limitations of an owner-to-owner adoption through the Seattle Humane Society. At her suggestion, I joined a Facebook group to rehouse senior cats in Washington state. I saw a lot of pleas but not a lot of offers. The next steps included hundreds of dollars of tests to tell us what we already knew, that her condition was worsening.
I began several quality of life assessments and having exploratory conversations with everyone in my closest circle about next steps. I called Compassion4Paws and continued to watch her. After about a week of observation and verbal processing, I determined it was time to begin the transition. She was showing me that her life didn’t consist of much except sleeping and getting up to eat once a day, then relieving herself. She wasn’t curious about anything anymore at all. I remembered what it was like when she first moved in and how much she disliked change. If she eventually found peace in a new home and gave someone else 6 months or a year of happiness along with her heavy duty care, would it be worth it? Wouldn’t it be more cruel to send her somewhere else she would potentially be bothered by another cat? Coco couldn’t stand the sight of another creature unless it was an adult humans, which meant other cats, children, and dogs were all off limits. How could I forfeit her to someone else?
We scheduled her final day and I spent our last week wondering if she would make it. She had became so lethargic and stopped eating, which I was read was normal. She rejected all of her food. I couldn’t stand it, so I gave her some appetite stimulant just to get her to Saturday. It seemed to give her more energy, but didn’t really prompt her to eat and she also continued to lose control of her faculties. I felt guilty for being at work and for spending any time with friends which took me away from her, but when I was at home, she was sleeping and our quality time was limited.
On her final morning, we saddled up for an outdoor walk. She stayed in her carrier, not too interested in exploring very far like she used to. But she remained curious about her surroundings, a trait she had appeared to have lost in the previous weeks. A few hours before the doctor arrived, many friends came over. We gave her salmon treats (her favorite) and she trotted around the room, greeting everyone multiple times over. It was surreal have so many friends supporting us and enjoying her presence. I didn’t know it was possible for us to fit that many people in the apartment for her to parade around and meet endlessly. We were so blessed to move on with dignity. I handed out every single one of my handkerchiefs (I don’t use Kleenex) and we naturally followed the progress of the day from socializing to connecting with the doctor for sedation and eventually the medicine to bring her into her final sleep. There were a lot of tears.
Coco always hated needles. I didn’t anticipate having to hold her for the sedation and I didn’t plan ahead. I had spent the past two years avoiding letting her be stuck with needles, it didn’t even occur to me when it should have. After a few failed attempts and a slight disappearance (Turns out, she went to use the litter box. Ever dignified.), we found a time for me to hold her and tell her I loved her. I reminded her it was time. She had told me it was time mere days before. It was hard, because I didn’t want the day to end either.
The happiest parts of the day are forever memorialized in these polaroids, which one of my friends had the inspired idea to do.
I’m so grateful for every individual who contributed their presence and support. By everyone showing up a little bit, we created a magnificent send off. I held her in my lap until the end, wrapped in a blanket. The doctor and I did a fur clipping and I held her so that you couldn’t tell and except for her tongue blepping out, it looked just like she was sleeping. Eventually, her tongue turned gray. The doctor said it was because she no longer had oxygen. We pressed her paw into clay (covered in her fur, of course) and I placed her in a basket. With that final goodbye, we were ever-lifted up by my friends who escorted the doctor out. We had conversation and reminisced about everything until it was time for dinner. The next day, I set up a shrine for her that I tried to leave up for as long as I could.
After she left, the atmosphere in my home shifted drastically. There were the tiny things like how I could move plants around without having to worry about them being chewed on but also the big things like not having to rearrange my schedule to fit her eating and attention schedule. I missed her. I missed everything from before even during the decline like cuddles and scampering and random bursts of meowing.
I’ve created a photo album for her previous owner that I share with all of you. It took me several weeks to go through everything, but it features my favorite photos and videos that I took of here over the years, including some that were shared by friends. Since she was of the “Void Cat” species, sometimes she’s hard to spot, but I promise that she’s in every photo I’ve selected. I took many pictures of her when we first got together and she used to sit on my lap more in the chilliness of our basement apartment. There are so many videos of me trying to understand what she was doing, often prompted by her meowing out of nowhere (rarely captured on film). Some of my favorites are when we visited Whidbey Island and the pictures from a photoshoot my sister Priscilla generously gifted me. It concludes with her final moments and what remains of her.
Coco was a very special cat. She was loved by all. She made her presence and her feelings known. She loved salmon treats, cheese, chewing on grass and plastic, monitoring the front door, smelling fresh air, rubbing her wet nose on people’s toes, super warm spots (laps, laptops, radiators, sunspots), stretching her little legs out, and curling up into impossible shapes so she could make the world disappear. She taught me what it means to truly care for and love another creature, even when it feels impossible. She absorbed my deepest, darkest pain and brought me back to myself.
I’ll miss you forever, Coco.
Rest in peace.