Over two decades ago, in the first year of our marriage, we began rescuing and adopting cats. We adopted our second litter of three abandoned kittens. Now, in 2024, they were turning 17. We named one of the Tuxedo boys Mickey.

In late August 2024, our beloved Mickey was unexpectedly diagnosed with malignant lymphoma. His oncologist recommended an aggressive chemotherapy protocol (CHOP) to give him the best chance at remission. We were very hopeful about the treatment, as he had such a vibrant love for life. Mickey spent countless hours playing in his cat-secured yard, seeming to prefer the outdoors more than any other cat we’d known. I affectionately called him “my little garden helper.” He especially enjoyed lounging in his lawn chair and watching butterflies in the summer.

Sadly, due to unforeseen complications, Mickey passed away the day after his first treatment. His loss was devastating, as it always is when we lose a dear friend.

A little stray came into our lives the week after Mickey’s death. She was a tailless Manx with a unique waddle, almost a swagger, and an adorable little bunny hop we had never seen in a cat. She immediately displayed extraordinary affection and had a clipped ear, indicating she was part of a TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) program.

Initially, we believed she had lost her family and made every effort to find her owners, but without success. It seemed she had chosen us as her forever home. It felt only fitting to name her “Mouse” in honor of Mickey.

Given her frail condition and jaundiced appearance, we took her to the vet for a full workup. Sadly, she was diagnosed with acute liver failure due to hepatic lipidosis, a condition caused by insufficient calorie intake. An ultrasound and aspiration confirmed our worst fear: she had the same diagnosis as Mickey. The irony was heartbreaking. Due to her failing liver, we couldn’t pursue the intensive chemotherapy we had with Mickey and had to balance treating both her liver and the cancer as best we could.

To our surprise, she made remarkable progress. Her jaundice began to fade, and within a month, she gained a whole pound, totaling 8.4 pounds. She loved eating rabbit and homemade food and frolicked happily in Mickey’s garden, visiting his memorial stone and favorite tree. She quickly claimed our home as her own, thoroughly exploring every bed and cozy spot.

However, her recovery was brief. Her treatment involved multiple emergency visits, blood transfusions, and countless moments when we feared we were saying goodbye too soon. It’s hard to say which is more difficult: mourning after the fact or mourning in advance, knowing what’s coming.

We are grateful that Mouse took her hospital visits like a trouper. She adored the staff, and they quickly fell in love with her.

On January 26, 2025, Mouse woke up, ate her food, and scampered outside to play. Being a warmer day in the south, she explored the yard. She lay in her favorite hammock and, as usual, explored around the house. Dinner came, and she seemed tired, walking more slowly. We knew something was wrong when she hid under the sofa. We took her to her room, and I decided to stay up with her. I knew that if this were the end, I would not let her pass without me holding her and letting her know she was loved until the end.

Mouse stayed in her bed. I pet her, and she purred softly. She moved to her hammock and lay her head down. I continued to pet her, assuring her she was safe and loved. Her breathing became softer; her eyes looked tired. After some hours, she had trouble getting up. I had to hold her up to use the litter box. She cried a few times, and I knew she was nearing the end. I decided to take her on one last ride and say a peaceful goodbye rather than let her suffer through potentially painful final hours. I told her I loved her, and she fell asleep. Mouse lost her battle. Her final trip to the hospital was peaceful, and though her loss is deeply felt, we take comfort in knowing she is no longer suffering.

We told Mickey and Mouse that we would ensure the world remembered them. Mickey and Mouse were not just unwanted kittens/cats dumped in our neighborhood, but cherished members of our family who would be immortalized. We will ensure their memory lives on forever because they deserve this.

Mickey and Mouse left us too soon, but our wish is that everyone knows their names, that they were loved, and that they can similarly love the kitties in their lives. Through the MMP, we hope to end the suffering of many more feline friends.