Milo De Venus Pope (April 11, 2007 - February 5, 2025)

I have written hundreds of articles on death and dying, made hundreds of presentations, and participated in hundreds of medical consults. But I had long been fortunate to approach those engagements as a professional - as a lawyer or bioethicist. This week, my experience was far more personal and emotional.  

We adopted Milo from the Delaware Humane Society, in October 2007, for Finn who had just turned 6. We wanted Finn to have a childhood cat. (Peaches joined the family later in 2011.) Milo was a great friend both to Finn and to the whole family. We have been sharing and reflecting on a cat lifetime of memories.

In have read about grief but was lucky to not experience it much. But in Milo's last days, I was struck with multiple and different layers of sadness.

1. We see Milo in a weak state. It is tough to see her unable to even drink water or walk. It was one thing to see Milo slow down over the last year. But over the past week, she has dropped fast in terms of agility, alertness, and more. 

2. We miss the Milo whom we knew for 18 years. No scratching to get into the bedroom, into the bathroom, or outside to eat grass. No hissing at Peaches. And this is doubly sad- for Milo and for us. Not only is is hard to see Milo unable to enjoy the things she's always enjoyed, but also we cannot participate (or enjoy participating) in these activities with her.

3. We know that Milo will shortly be gone. The present is sad enough. But we know the future is coming up. Anticipation works so nicely when a fun trip is coming up because we get to enjoy not only the trip but also looking forward to it. Here, it works in the opposite direction, making the bad, worse. Plus, we have significant stress and anxiety, hoping that Milo remains comfortable, but afraid there could be suffering we'll need to address.

4. Even apart from our feelings toward Milo, we know that the very structure of our lives will be different. We will not be a 2-cat family. We will only need to feed one cat. Only one cat will come to the door when we get home. And we will have no more delicate dances while one cat waits (or demands) for the lap.

5. We will miss our jobs. Milo's extreme dependence is so clarifying. Comforting Milo now is the obviously most important thing to do. But as I see now-unused kibble dishes, litter boxes, beds, treats, toys, and more; I know I've lost a caretaking role that I enjoyed and treasured.

6. Milo's death is a vivid concrete reminder that death is also coming for me and for everyone else I love. Again, being immersed in this literature, I am ultra-aware of all this at an intellectual level. But Milo's death is a reality check that is more hard-hitting.

Milo died at 5:00PM CT on Wednesday, February 5, 2025. We let her lie on her blanket in the living room. Today (Thursday), we take her to the pet hospital. But my more important task is to make a resolution to do good. I am unsure whether I should focus on self-improvement, helping cats, or helping others. But I must do something meaningful to honor Milo.