Goodbye, Little Warrior

It was a hard week. After Lupe’s emergency vet visit, we honestly didn’t think she’d make it through the weekend. She surprised us. Maybe the steroid shot helped her rally, or maybe she just had one more stretch of living to do on her own terms. Either way, she had a string of good days. Lou was out of town for a few days, and I spent those early hours preparing for the worst and grieving in advance. It felt like a gift that she was still with us by the time Lou got back.

On Thursday, I called the vet hospital to ask for antibiotics and scheduled her a follow-up with our local clinic. Lupe made her case by catching a flying squirrel that night. If you didn’t know she was sick, you’d think she was thriving. That’s how determined she was. Lou and I both had Saturday off and planned a short trip to the fair, one week to the day after her emergency. We hurried our way home afterward, anxious to check on her. A storm rolled in, and I can’t help but think the barometric pressure made things harder on her lungs.

We spent about an hour with her, watching her energy fade. Then came the episode. She began suffocating again, crying out. We were all together—me, Lou, and Lupe. We knew it was time. We euthanized her, with love, and buried her under the trees with flowers and her favorite hair tie. Even though I had done the heaviest grieving earlier in the week, I still have my moments. There’s nothing else to say about how much I loved that little cat that I haven’t already said.

How We Met Our Cats

Our history with cats hasn’t always been smooth. When Lou first moved in with me, I already had two cats I’d adopted from a previous house. They had a bad habit of peeing on everything—beds, clothes—and both ended up running away not long into our relationship. One stuck around long enough to meet Paco, our first dog, who we adopted in winter 2009.

By the time we were living on our steep, forested property in Oregon, we had rabbits and chickens, and with that came a rodent problem. We tried adopting a few cats, including two ferals from a rescue (they disappeared fast) and one older shelter cat named Rusty. He was lovely, but had kidney failure and passed away just a few months before Paco in early 2019. Sancho, our terrier-chihuahua mix, came along somewhere in there under the pretense of being a ratter—but he was more bark than bite.

In June 2019, we were burned out from losing cats. We just wanted barn cats that would stick. Lou found a Craigslist post offering kittens, and it’s important to Lou that I mention this: we traded a box of cat litter for each cat. The people didn’t let us in the house—just took our carrier, dropped the kittens into it, and sent us on our way. Who knew what a profound impact those two scrappy little kittens would have.

Becoming Family

We started them out in the barn, in a large cage with a litter box, slowly letting them explore the land. That land—six acres within a 70-acre stretch of northwest Oregon forest—was full of tall cedars, Douglas fir, and bigleaf maple. The kittens earned their freedom at night, but in the mornings before we went to work, they started coming inside for food and a warm place to lounge. And eventually, they chose us. Especially Lupe. She became my cat, while Ramona took to Lou.

A few years later, we prepared to leave Oregon. We harvested most of our livestock, sold our house, and began a biggest transiton of our lives. Falcor, our third dog, was rehomed. Sancho had developed seizures and had to be put down. When we left for Michigan, it was just us and the two cats. They went from free-roaming forest cats to campground dwellers, living with us in a camper for six months.

Lupe even ran away once during that period. Lou called for her all day, worried. But when I came home, Falcor barked—and Lupe slipped back inside like she never left. After that, she stayed close. When we finally moved to our property in Michigan, and then out of our temporary apartment in May of 2023, both cats stepped into the wild again—this time among coyotes, wolves, and bears. They’ve been out here ever since.

Lou and Lupe

Lupe was always more into me. But over the last year, Lou worked hard to win her over. Slowly but surely, they built a real relationship—one full of appreciation, mutual trust, and affection. They loved the shit out of each other, and I think Lou will always be grateful she got that time. Ramona, meanwhile, has softened into one of the sweetest cats we’ve ever had. You can pick her up like a teddy bear, and in moments like these, she’s a comfort we didn’t know we’d need so badly.

What Lupe Taught Me

Big things come in small packages. That little 4-pound cat took down animals bigger than herself—and did it days before her final breath. She taught me what it means to be resilient, and to accept what life gives us without wasting the moment. I think Ramona knew Lupe was sick long before we did. She came to see Lupe before we buried her. Animals grieve differently, but I know she knew.

We're already thinking about more cats. I’ve seen some reasonably priced Maine coons—because if I’m going to swing from one extreme to another, I might as well go from a tiny huntress to a 30-pound beast of the north woods. I don’t see a life ahead without cats. They’re how we interact with the forest: domesticated companions on the edge of the wild.

Love and loss are just part of this life. Even with livestock, it’s rarely easy—especially when you’ve raised them right. But we live this way on purpose. We bury our animals with care, and we remember them in the work we do, the way we live, and the lessons they taught us.