A Eulogy for Tilly
Our beloved Matilda left this earth last night, cradled in our arms. She was around 14 years old, but nobody knows for sure. We are heartbroken.
The medical story is that yesterday afternoon, she suddenly couldn’t walk straight and started having seizures after we rushed her to the hospital. The hospital was unable to stabilize her or stop the seizures and they detected pressure in her brain, likely from a cancerous tumor. They did not expect her to survive the night, even with more treatment, so we chose to end her suffering together, so she could be enveloped by our love when she passed. It was eerily similar to our experience with losing Brie last year and we didn’t think we’d be doing it again so soon.
The story of her life and what she meant to us is much longer. Also known as Tilly, Tillygato, Tillerson, Tillinha, Potato and Babycat, she was my first and only pet who was 100% mine. I joked that she was my biological daughter because I was so clearly her person and we had so much in common. She inherited my anxiety, my trichotillomania, my sass, my love of nesting in cozy spots, my outspokenness, my snoring, my hard candy shell that takes some time to melt away. I spent 5 1/2 years with her but I don’t know exactly how long her life was because her journey before I met her was a total mystery.
One of the reasons I moved to LA was because I wanted to be able to afford a home with space for a pet. Five months after I arrived, I felt settled enough that I decided to visit the Santa Monica Animal Shelter to see the cats. I walked up to each cage to say hello. When I reached Tilly’s, she aggressively nuzzled my hand through the bars and instantly started purring loudly. She was so cute and I have a soft spot in my heart for tabbies, as she reminded me of my beloved childhood cat Emily, who had passed away a few years before. I read the tag on the cage and it said she was about eight years old and she had been there for nine months.
I wanted to adopt an older cat because they’re the least likely to be taken home and they tend to be low-key and chill. I told a staffer I’d like to adopt her and he told me, “She’s a sassy one!” They didn’t know where she came from or anything about her past, just that someone had dropped her off as a stray. She had been adopted a few months earlier by a man who returned her after a few days, because she wouldn’t come out from under the bed. I asked about the adoption process and they said I could just give them $20 and take her home immediately. It took two grown men to wrestle her from her cage into a cardboard carrier, while she growled and screamed. It was the best $20 I’ve ever spent.
I don’t remember what name the shelter called her but I renamed her Matilda, after my favorite childhood book and to match the “M” marking on her forehead. I called her Tilly for short, after a band I liked in college. She was clearly traumatized from something but she trusted me instantly. On our first night together, she not only came out from under the bed, she jumped on it and snuggled next to me. She was “making biscuits” on my body like she was kneading dough, like kittens do to their mothers, like she knew I was her mom.
It took a couple of years until she was comfortable enough to go near other people or even let me pick her up. She didn’t particularly like her two dog sisters, but she tolerated them — growling, hissing and swatting at them when they got too close but never scratching them, even though she easily could have. The Wall Street Journal wrote about the challenges that Daniel and I faced when integrating our two households into one, thus forcing Tilly and Brie to cohabitate. Tilly turned Daniel into a cat dad and it took a few years, but she eventually came to love him as much as she loved me.
I was so proud of how much she was able to overcome her past trauma in just five years, even when others had written her off as a lost cause. Toward the end of her life, she adored being picked up and carried around by both Daniel and me, and she even let some of our visitors pet her. Her favorite places to sleep were drawers — both Daniel’s underwear drawer and then the bathroom drawer that she claimed in our house. One of my favorite memories was when we first discovered she could weasel in there from underneath the sink — a plumber opened the drawer to examine the pipes and screamed when he found her, hissing at him for disturbing her slumber.
Being “Tilly’s mom” was a big part of my identity and she made me feel like I had a little LA family, especially as a single lady in a new city. I’m more patient and empathetic because of her. I like to think our love for each other gave me more confidence and opened my heart to finding love with Daniel, who I met three months after she entered my life. She was in a photo on my Bumble profile that he swiped right on. One of the first photos I sent him was a picture of me resting my head on her, which still shows up as my contact image on his phone, while a photo of them together has been the longtime lock screen on mine.
I was a helicopter cat mom and gave her everything I could. Tilly had her own bedroom, bathroom, castle, Instagram, and dermatologist. Tributes were made to her in the form of multiple pillows, cakes (including at our wedding), Christmas cards, greeting cards, T-shirts, socks, two cross-stitches, a puzzle and more. She deserved it all. She loved wet cat food; Mila’s dog food; treats from her egg-shaped toy; spooning; rubbing her face on my face; crossing her paws like a high-class lady; making imaginary biscuits; hanging out in the bathtub; lying in the sun; making hilariously grumpy faces; chomping on toilet paper and crinkly plastic; ear and chin scratches that caused her to drool with glee; screaming dramatically; chasing bugs; electric blankets; making appearances on video calls by jumping onto the couch behind my shoulders; and being carried around upright with her paws on our shoulders, like a big furry potato.
She was my comfort cat through cancer treatment, heartbreaks and traumas. When I was in the hospital during difficult and painful procedures, I’d use meditation to get through it by visualizing my “happy places,” like a sunny day at the beach and spooning with Tilly… then I’d imagine being on the beach with Tilly and start laughing at how much she’d hate it. I always felt most secure in my bed, with her on one side and Brie on the other.
She was part of our family and changed our lives for the better in just a few years. We will love and miss her forever. We appreciate the love and support of everyone who has reached out. If you’d like to honor her memory, you can donate to the Santa Monica Animal Shelter to help other wonderful animals like her, or maybe even adopt a senior pet of your own.
