This one’s a lot. I almost held it back, but grief doesn’t really wait for the right timing. When Snow Falls is part reflection, part poem, part release — a way to make sense of the ache that’s been living just under my skin lately.
I’m leaving this one open to everyone because it feels like something that should be shared freely. Writing through loss is how I find my footing again, and maybe it helps someone else find theirs, too.
There’s more coming soon—some lighter, some heavier—as I get back into rhythm across my publications. I’ve been rebuilding behind the scenes and trying to let myself just be where I am for a bit.
Thanks for reading, for staying, and for meeting me in the middle of it all.
Content Warning: This reflection and poem are about the loss of a cherished cat, a family member really. Please take care as you read.
9/10/25 - The News
I’m in a bit of a dark place right now.
I’m trying to focus on all the great things to come but I’m preparing to say the final goodbye to a dear sweet friend.
My beautiful Snow is fading fast. And so much is wrapped up in my feelings about these moments.
To be clear, it always wrecks me to lose one of my precious charges, whether they live inside or reside in my colony. But I often must button it up and move on anyway.
I feel very stuck this morning as I contemplate the situation.
I debated writing about this, but I want to share her story with you.
Snow is a little different than my other furry children. She was not mine originally; she started her journey with my brother.
A beautiful kitten, flame-point Siamese. Playful and affectionate. She grew into an awkward “teen”; her body too big for her head, all legs and awkwardness. Curious and oh-so-smart. She learned to turn the handles on the doors pretty early. No door could hold her unless it was locked. What an affront! Her sensibilities deeply offended, she’d look at you and cry out, “Why are you impeding me, human??”
Life took a turn for her when my brother passed. She was still young, about a year old. Times were dark for all of us.
My older brother moved in with my mom and formed a special bond with this special cat. She was his “baby girl” now. Light returned for her and, once again, she was her playful, joyous self. Three years was too short a time before fate struck again.
With the loss of her new “person,” left only with my mother, Snow faltered. Life was shallow and empty. My mother was in her own despair and unable to provide the care this special cat truly needed.
Three years later, when I visited where my mother had moved, I was shocked to see how much Snow had changed. Almost feral, very angry, she was seriously overweight and miserable. Still wearing her kitten collar, wrapped tightly around her neck, she reminded me of the stay-puff marshmallow man. She couldn’t bear to be face to face.
I brought her home with me. With Mom’s blessing, but truly I would have cat-napped her, if needed.
Then began the slow process of normalizing touch and soft words, losing the constricting collar, eating properly, and being cherished.
My sons were leery initially: she had torn up my arms and hands years before on the day of Mom’s move, out of stress and fear. It had been a pretty horrible time. She lashed out at them a few times for the same reason. We weathered it and continued to try.
Over time, she settled back in to being her loving, intelligent, playful and sweet self. We’ve had almost five years with this beautiful angel.
My oldest son dotes on her, taking her on walks outside daily. She loves to nestle close now, as she is in this moment: cuddling in my lap. Despite her debilitating condition, she’s still purring.
All this time with her, I’ve felt that I have been loving her for three people: myself and my brothers. She’s been a living link to them. To so many shared memories.
I know that’s a great deal to rest on her slim shoulders. I know I rescued her, but she also helped rescue me. She truly has helped me in learning to bear the loss of them. How many times have I sat here feeling it all, crying in my soul, only to have Snow slip in, like a ghost, to settle at my side? Offering her presence.
I have to be honest here. I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. Next week? No clue. I feel the pain of the imminent moment weighing down on me and honestly—who needs who more in this equation?
I feel she’s given a lot more than she’s received. Maybe I’m biased. Who’s to say?
What I do know is this: this will not be like other losses. This is the ending of an era, the closing of a loop, and I feel the weight of that on my chest.
For now, I’m spending as much time with her as possible. Trying to infuse her final days with as much joy and her favorite experiences as her frail body can tolerate. More than anything, showing her how cherished and beautiful she still is and always will be.
10/25/25 - The Loss
That wasn’t the final curtain call for Snow. I knew she was terminal, but still brought her back to the vet to seek anything that could help her be more comfortable. She responded to treatment, just. Never fully regaining her strength, but enough to survive another day and another, until the weeks spun out and I grew complacent, thinking she would prevail. She kept fighting and I kept hoping she would continue to fight.
She still purred. She still wanted her meals. She still wanted another walk.
One more.
Until this morning.
I woke up to her lying on her side, in distress. I gathered her to me and summoned my sons.
We held vigil with her for almost an hour.
And she drew her last breath.
We cried. So much.
My oldest son took it the hardest.
She used to sleep with him until she grew ill. Then she shifted to wanting to reside in my lap, day or night, rain or shine.
I honestly think she was hoping I could work a miracle for her.
I tried.
In the end, I think maybe we started to take it for granted that she would weather it. That she could weather it.
None of us were truly ready to say goodbye to her.
I don’t know that anyone ever really is.
Having been through fast, traumatic losses and this lingering one, I can say this: neither road is easier.
I think I have processed more at this point and I feel certain that will serve me in the days to come.
But I’ll still miss her pawing at the door, frustrated with knobs she couldn’t manipulate.
Leaping on my lap to investigate my plate for food she could steal.
Rolling in the grass on a sunny day, basking.
Stealing the colony kitties’ food when she thought no one was looking.
Racing through the house, chasing a ball.
Curling up in my lap or next to me.
Purring with such a high baby trill, I could never mimic the sound.
Just being Snow, in all her gorgeous glory.
You never truly know how long you have with someone you love. Word to the wise: fight against human nature to flow toward complacency and the “norm;” treat every moment as a gift—the present.
April 2024
After my accident and first surgery, Snow brought her light to cheer me up.
When Snow Falls
Such a young thing
to lose so damn much.
You were so lost—
fell away from touch.
Precious wee one,
pure as drifting snow.
took on new life—
blue eyes all aglow.
The joy you brought
with silly charades—
seeing you strut,
just like a parade.
No one like you—
one in a million.
Never held back
all your opinions.
What to do now—
you’ve left me alone.
My lap empty,
my peace all but flown.
Tried to save you—
who meant more to who?
You fought so hard,
long past being through.
Never again
to hold you so close.
But in my heart,
I’ll miss you the most.
I must thank you
for bringing me joy;
now run along
and play with those boys.
11/6/2025 - The Aftermath
I tried so hard.
Tried to convince myself I had already processed my grief.
I was so wrong.
Focused on compiling and curating the zine. Writing was not my strong point—too much in my head.
Building art panels, putting visuals together—much better for avoiding intrusive thoughts.
Just trying to focus on anything but my feelings.
I started losing the thread after a few days. I found each day my spirit drug lower.
Scraping the ground.
So I stopped. I just fucking stopped for a bit.
Allowed myself to weep like a baby and watch movies.
Eat chocolate.
Okay I’ll admit it.
I wallowed a bit.
Chewed my nails a bit.
I toyed with the idea of breaking my sobriety every fucking day.
I still think about it, like it would be so easy to do.
These are all signs of a dysfunctional set of habits trying to take hold again.
I’m proud of the fact that the part of me that’s healed and healing never failed to remind me of the one-way nature of that particular beast.
So I haven’t.
And I won’t.
Tonight’s the first night I haven’t had to force myself to write.
I haven’t streamed any content.
For me, these are signs of life returning.
All of this to say, I know I’ve been a little weird lately. All part of the package. And that’s okay.
I’m okay.
My kitties are sick. I’ve been sick.
I’ve been grieving.
It’s a lot.
But I’m still here.
And that matters.
November 2023
Thanksgiving message to my mom — because moments this full of simple joy deserve to be shared.
Author’s Note:
I keep finding her everywhere — in the hush before sleep, in the way sunlight lands across the floor she used to claim.
Grief has a way of reminding us what mattered most. Snow taught me to rest when I needed to, to show up anyway, and to love without apology. Those lessons stay.
Maybe that’s what “forever” really means — what we carry forward after the last goodbye.
If you’ve ever said goodbye to a companion who carried you through hard times, I hope this brings you a bit of peace too. Thank you for letting me share Snow’s light with you. — Liora 💜
Thanks for reading this reflection. If something here resonated and you’d like to support this work:
– Buy me a coffee — fuels the late nights.
– Feed the kitties — meals for the colony + Whiskers in the Dark mini-zine.
– Grab my chapbook — Through the Fire, Vol. I, the poetry that started it all.
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There’s so much tenderness and strength in this.
Snow’s story - and yours - remind me why we write at all.
I’m really glad you’re still here 🙏🏻