Moom
On the 11th of May 2025, my cat Moom passed away. I adopted her from a shelter on 17 October 2023, having her for a little over a year - she was 2 years old at the time I adopted her.
Moom’s original name from the shelter was Poo-Poo. I thought that name was not cute at all, so I wanted to rename her but with something that sounded similar to her old name. Moom was named after a Vtuber named Nanashi Mumei, who was commonly nicknamed Moom by her fans - Moom’s fur pattern reminded me of the owl feathers that Mumei had in her hair.
Her cause of death was likely her constant struggle with anemia, causing a low red blood cell count. She appeared to recover from it at first, only to relapse not 2 weeks later. I had taken her to the vet where she would be boarded for a few days to monitor her condition. I only learned of her passing after checking back at the vet the next day.
I had to attend an event away from home when I got the call that her condition worsened, and by that time the vet was already closing for the day. My only real regret is not being able to comfort and accompany her during her last moments, or to have those moments be within the comfort of her home.
Moom was my first cat. When I took her body back home to be buried, I wrote a letter to her, burying it with her. The transcript of the letter is below, which summarises my thoughts about this all better than anything I can type now:
It's 11th of May, the same day that you’ve passed, and I miss you already, Moom.
I’ll miss how you always meow incessantly when I move from my chair, because that almost always means it’s feeding time.
I’ll miss how you keep jumping on and lying on my XP-Pen drawing tablet whenever you want attention and pets.
I’ll miss how you keep kneading my back and tummy, even when it hurts like heck because of your claws.
I’ll miss your meows and soft fur, and your gentle purring.
I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you. I wish I was there for you at the end, during your last moments at the vet, sitting by yourself alone in that cold night, not knowing if I would come back.
I hope that part of you knew I would have come back for you, and I always had.
Since adopting you from the shelter, it’s only been a short time over a year: 17 October 2023, a year and 7 months. It’s not a long time at all. Especially with how so many people talk about their pets reaching 10 or even 19 years old. I wish we had that same story.
[this part of the letter was me talking about the vet]
But I know there is no one to blame here. I only want to be grateful for the short time we spent. In a different future, I would have been an owner careful enough, cautious enough to save you, experienced enough to know exactly what to do. But this is not that future, simply a present without you.
I’m grateful for you, Moom. I’d like to think even if it was a year, I have you a place to call home beyond the shelter, a unique companion and source of comfort, someone to call family (even if you were scared of anyone else besides me).
I’ll miss you Moom, and thank you for being such a weird, cute, amazing little cat. In all our time together, even apart, and now beyond, know that I loved our time together, and I love you.
Your dear owner,
Aaron
