A Tribute to Bailey

This weekend, I lost my soul cat. Bailey. My boy. My shadow. The one who knew my heartbeat from the inside out. My partner lost him too, and I know he feels the same.

As a counsellor who walks alongside others in the pain of losing a beloved animal, I am no stranger to grief. But no amount of training softens the rawness when it’s your own. I’m living what I so often gently guide others through—and it hurts more deeply than words can hold. Still, words are what I have. This is my way of honouring him by marking his life. Of saying, he mattered.

Bailey entered our lives in early 2014, a tiny four-month-old kitten with a big spirit, the last of a litter born to a street cat in Yuen Long, Hong Kong. We never met him before bringing him home—just a few photos and a description from the rescue. But something about him called to us. I went to the vet clinic after work, picked him up in a carrier, and brought him home. When I opened the carrier, he didn’t hesitate. He bolted out and leapt straight onto my chest. He settled there, pressed into me like he had been waiting his whole life for that moment. I looked into his eyes and knew—I was his person, and he was mine. I loved him instantly.

Bailey was no ordinary cat. He was solid, soulful, mischievous, and endlessly loving. He spoke in a variety of trills and meows, a language only we understood. He was my companion in every sense—my right hand, my co-regulator, my comfort. Wherever I was, he was. At night, he would curl into me as if to keep my soul anchored.

He stayed beside me through milestones that shaped me. When I was alone, he was my company. When I wrote my dissertation, he perched on my desk, sometimes dozing, always watching. His life was so tightly woven into mine, it’s hard to see the edges of where I end and he began.
Bailey made the journey home with us from Hong Kong, alongside our other two cats. He adapted to the UK with ease—radiators quickly became his favourite discovery. He loved sun-drenched days outside and eyed snow with cautious disdain. We had our quiet routines, our sacred moments, our shared world. Ours was a bond built slowly, deeply, irreversibly.

Two years ago, we noticed something in his breathing. After tests and vet visits, we discovered he had a rare heart defect. And how fitting, I thought—because he was rare. For two years, I cared for him with precision and devotion. I learned more than I ever wanted to about heart disease. I gave up holidays, rearranged plans, and shaped my days around his needs. I would do it all again without a second thought.

In those years, I grieved even while he lived. Anticipatory grief is heavy—it sits quietly beside joy, whispering reminders of what’s to come. I tried to prepare for his loss, but nothing can truly prepare you for the silence they leave behind.

When the end came, it came quickly. And yet, the world felt suspended in slow motion. Time collapsed, and in that moment, our hearts broke. He wasn’t just a cat. He was part of our family, a vital thread in our tapestry. His absence echoes everywhere.

We made sure his passing was met with the care and dignity he deserved. We chose a company we trusted, one that honoured him tenderly,  and held us gently through it. He was treated with profound respect, and we were given the space and privacy we needed to say goodbye.

Now, he is home. His physical form is gone, but his presence is everywhere. In the stillness. In the sunbeams. In the quiet hum of our daily rhythm.

There is no timetable for grief. No finish line. And no shame in continuing to cry, to speak his name, to feel the ache. We grieve because we loved, and love, true love, doesn't end. It changes shape.

I will take my time finding the right way to remember him. There’s no rush. Bailey deserves something meaningful. Continuing bonds matter—they help us carry those we’ve lost with us into whatever comes next.
He was my soul cat. He still is.
And I will carry him, always.

 

“Some souls don't walk beside you, they live within you—curled up in the quiet corners of your heart, purring softly through the silence.”