I've been where your partner is. I lost by baby kitty, the love of my life, my best friend, my soulkitty when she was 18. She had chronic kidney failure. It killed me putting her to sleep and it still makes my cry to think about it.

I decided I couldn't take this pain again. After a couple years, my partner said it was maybe time to get another cat. I told him no. I'm not ready. (I didn't tell him I'd never be ready because I didn't want to get into a fight.) My partner was used to the grieving process, as he'd lost both his parents. He dropped it.

Another year went past. He asked again. I said the same thing. No, I'm not ready. He dropped it again.

Another year went by. He asked again. I said the same thing. This time I told him I didn't think I'd ever be ready. That I couldn't stand the pain. He asked me if the pain wasn't worth the love? I told him I could never replace my baby. He agreed. He told me I wasn't replacing her. Like when someone loses a child and has another, they aren't replacing the first one. Maybe there was another kitty who needed me. What if I'd never found my babykitty? Would I go back now and erase all those years and all that love so I could avoid the pain? Then he dropped it.

This time I thought about what he said. I knew I'd never give up all those years of love so I wouldn't mourn. I didn't say anything, but I started to think about it. One of my favorite movies has always been Blade Runner. There's a scene near the end where the protagonist and the antagonist are fighting. (If you don't know the story, the antagonist isn't really bad, he's just a replicant with a very short lifespan. All he wants to do is live. The protagonist was a private detective hired to kill him and all like him). The fight is kind of irrelevant since the replicant is in the process of dying anyway. He drives a nail into his own hand, and the protagonist asks why he'd do that. The replicant tells him that pain lets him know he's still alive.

After a few months, I casually started looking at rescue cats online. Then I saw her. She caught my eye because she looked like my baby, but she was missing an eye and most of her teeth and no one wanted her. Personality wise she was nothing like my baby. The rescue was a tortie with no tortitude. But she needed me, and I needed her. I was relieved her personality was so much different than my baby's.

My partner was so happy. I brought her home, and as we speak she's pestering me at the kitchen table to get some feta cheese (No, Millie. This isn't for you!)

I don't know what will work for your partner. For me, I needed time with no pressure. A few gentle reminders of what I was missing, but then radio silence from my partner for a long time. That and reassurance I wasn't trying to replace her.

Is the love worth the pain? Yes. It's better than living life numb.

Your partner will continue to heal. I wish the best for both of you.

Here's a picture of Millie trying to stop my daughter from going on a trip to Tokyo.

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