Talking to Our Toddler About Saying Goodbye to Baby Cat

Hi, I’m Nicole! Read my introduction to learn more about me and my distinguished Burmese, Mr. Baby Cat.

The prospect of Baby Cat not being with us for many years to come was always a discussion point with our daughter. She’s only two, and by the time she was born, Baby Cat was already diagnosed with kidney disease. So, we’ve always had conversations with her about Baby Cat being old, so she needed to be gentle and calm with him (which, surprisingly, she always was!).

But, those were future conversations.

Now, the conversation is about the immediate future, about decisions that have been made and others that are likely going to be made tomorrow at the vet’s.

How We Opened the Conversation With Our Toddler About Saying Goodbye to Our Cat

I can’t remember exactly what I said, but the following dialogue is pretty close to how it went. Our toddler is quite articulate, which we are so grateful for in a situation like this because she could express her thoughts and feelings and help us all process things a little better.

We sat down on the floor where Baby was lying and had our daughter beside him, with my husband on the other side of my daughter to me. Mac tried to get involved too, but Rosa was sound asleep.

I began, “You know how Baby has been sick for a while, has been slowing down, and is not feeling like playing much anymore?”

“Yeah, Baby is sick,” our daughter replied.

“Well, Baby is really sick and might not get better. We are going to take him to the vet tomorrow and ask what the best way we can help him is, but we want you to know that he might not be coming back home with us tomorrow and we might not be able to see him in this body again. But he will always be with us, just in a different way.”

“Ok, Mom. Baby is sick and might not get better. The vet will help him but he might not come home with us, but he is always with us?” she confirmed.

“Exactly. How does that make you feel?”

“I love Baby. I want to read him a story.”

So she proceeded to find a book, which was a little grim given the circumstances, Dr. Chris Ferrie’s Evolution for Babies. Nothing like a good discussion about survival of the fittest when someone is getting ready to walk toward the light.

The Beauty of Acceptance

Our daughter walked right into acceptance. When she grabbed the book, she also grabbed a “blanket” (which is actually a sheet of thick crepe paper, so gentler than a blanket because it didn’t have to touch Baby or weigh down on his weak little body).

She sat down and proceeded to read to him, and Mac came and got involved. It was truly nearly 20 minutes of the three of them spending some super beautiful quality time together. It was painful in the most heartwarming way. I don’t know how our daughter and Mac will cope once Baby is no longer with us. Thankfully, they have each other, but this trio is something special and I will be forever grateful that I got to bear witness to it.

Maybe our daughter didn’t (or doesn’t) fully understand what we mean (though I happen to believe that small children are closer to wherever we came from and wherever we go, so the concept of death is actually easier to grasp).

She’s been repeating “Baby Cat is sick and the vet will help him, he might not come home but he’s always with us,” as though each time she says it aloud she understands it just a little bit more.

She seems sad but relieved, just as we are. She has a heart of gold and doesn’t want him or anyone to suffer, so explaining that the vet will help him to not be sick was super important for her understanding of the situation, as much as a two-year-old can.

The strangest thing happened after she read her story, too. A bird flew into our window; it was dazed and confused. We picked it up and just held it for a moment, our daughter spoke gently to the bird and reassured it that we were there to help. After about 10 minutes, the bird started hopping around and then flew away. It felt like a message from beyond. That no matter the outcome of tomorrow, everything is going to be ok.

My Tips For Talking to Your Child About Pets and Death

1. Don’t lie. But don’t tell the story the same way you would to an adult. Change the language you use to ensure it is appropriate for your child’s comprehension level. Lying causes unnecessary stress and potential mistrust (kids understand more than most adults think).
2. Ensure you talk about the reality of the death of your pets well before they are even sick. It can be done lovingly, it doesn’t need to be devastating or uncomfortable, but just enough conversation about it so the concept is not completely foreign when the time comes.
3. Share your own thoughts, feelings, and experiences with your child (at an age-appropriate level of communication). By letting your child know that you are sad, but without losing yourself in the sadness, you show them that feelings are OK but that you are in control of your emotions; they don’t control you. Welcome in the sadness, and by giving sadness the space it needs, you can find joy again.
4. Ask questions and provide space for your child to share their thoughts, feelings, and needs with you. Don’t judge, don’t tell them how to feel, just listen.
5. Give lots of love and hugs to your child and your pet. It can fill devastating experiences with warmth and allow happy memories to shine through.
6. Talk about all of the happy memories you have together. Begin this before your pet has crossed the rainbow bridge because it sets a precedent for open and healthy conversation about your pet to continue even after they’ve left their physical body.

I pray none of you reading this is going through a situation like this at this time, but I also pray that if any of you are, this can help you find strength and peace in some form. Just writing it out has been such a cathartic experience for me, as I muster up the strength to help my little man the best way we can tomorrow. I’m still praying for a miracle.

If you’d like to share your experiences with us on this subject, I’d be grateful to hear from you. You are not alone, and neither is your fur baby.