How My Cat Taught Me About Life and Love
If you are a pet owner, you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say that pets become our babies. They’re more than companions; they’re family. We treat them as such, showering them with affection, toys, treats, and all the things that, in hindsight, we wished we had given to our previous pets. The thought of life without them is excruciating, and when they leave us, they remain in our hearts forever. But today, I want to talk about something different: the feeling that we’re never quite the perfect pet parents.
It’s this recurring promise we make to ourselves, with every new pet, that we’ll “do better this time.” We’ll be more attentive, more patient, more present. But just like with anything else in life, we often fall short. Life has a way of rushing in, throwing us curveballs, and all we can really do is try our best.
One pet in particular stands out for me—a Persian tortoiseshell cat named Mariposa. Her name means “butterfly” in Spanish, a fitting name for such a graceful, gentle creature. Mariposa didn’t start out with me. She belonged to a client I had met during my time at CHANEL. It was the beginning of my story with her. I had grown quite fond of this client, despite our differences. I remember asking her if she’d sponsor me for my first AIDS Walk in Los Angeles. Her response was a shock. She told me she was a devout Jehovah’s Witness and didn’t believe in supporting the AIDS cause. In fact, she went on to say that being gay was wrong. I recoiled, unsure of how to respond, and quickly apologized for even asking.
Years later, this same client went through a messy divorce and asked if I wanted to take any of her cats. She had several. I ended up taking four, but one of them stayed with me—the one I had met years earlier while doing her makeup in her home. It was Mariposa, this beautiful Persian cat with a moon-shaped face and an unbelievably friendly nature. From that day on, she became my constant companion for 14 years.
Mariposa was with me through it all—through breakups, through moves to new apartments, and through my demanding travel schedule. She stayed by my side even as I transitioned from CHANEL to my first senior role at the Estée Lauder Companies, Bobbi Brown division. She never caused trouble, never jumped on counters, and never asked for anything more than love. And I did my best to give it to her, even if I sometimes felt it wasn’t enough.
I’m not sure if we ever truly become great pet parents. Maybe it’s like being a parent to a child. We always think we could have done more, or we could have been better.
In 2000, I got the opportunity to move from Los Angeles to New York for work. I was terrified at first. New York was a city I didn’t know, and moving across the country felt overwhelming. But after months of debating, I signed the deal and prepared for the move. Mariposa, of course, came with me. We flew to New York together, and I’ll never forget that flight. It was delayed, and she had an accident in her travel bag. I felt so helpless, unable to clean her up properly until we landed. She handled it with her usual grace, and we made it to our new, mostly empty apartment.
At this point, Mariposa was about 14 years old, and she had started to slow down. Her age was showing, and it broke my heart. She had been with me through so much, including the start of a new chapter in my career as vice president of sales at Kiehl’s, which had just been acquired by L’Oréal. And now, I had to watch her slowly fade away. I found a wonderful vet named Andrew, who guided me through her final months. He encouraged me to be brave and to stay with her until the end.
As her condition worsened, I struggled with the idea that I wasn’t doing enough for her. Should I have found better treatments? Should I have spent more time with her? I felt guilty, as if I had failed her. But Andrew reminded me that I had given her a good life, and now it was time to let her go.
On October 2, my birthday, I spent the entire day with her. She had stopped moving much, and all she did was lay by my side, staring at me with those big, trusting eyes. I cried, knowing the end was near. My boyfriend and I went out for dinner, and when we returned, she had passed away. She had waited until I was gone, and then she left, peacefully. I held her little body and placed her in her favorite bed, a slipper-shaped cat bed that she loved. I wept uncontrollably, feeling an immense loss.
For a year, I mourned her. I cried often, realizing how much she had been there for me—during the darkest times, when my world seemed to be falling apart. She had been a constant source of comfort, never asking for more than a few pets and some attention. And now, she was gone.
I still have Mariposa’s ashes. I keep them in a little box, and though I know they’re just ashes, they bring me comfort. I wasn’t great at taking photos back then, so I have few pictures of her. But I have the memories—the way she looked at me, the sound of her soft meow, her beautiful eyes.
I’m not sure if we ever truly become great pet parents. Maybe it’s like being a parent to a child. We always think we could have done more, or we could have been better. But the truth is, we do our best with the time and energy we have. Now, I have two cats and a dog, Hiro, and they test my patience every day. I try to be the best pet dad I can, but I don’t always get it right. And that’s okay.
In my quest to be my most brilliant self, I’ve learned that part of brilliance is love. Love for others, love for our pets, and love for ourselves. I’m not perfect, but having these three little souls under my roof has made me a better person. Mariposa taught me that love is simple. It doesn’t ask for much, and it doesn’t hold grudges. We just have to show up and give it the best we have. And when we fall short, we have to be kind to ourselves, too.
That’s the lesson I’ve learned, and it’s one I carry with me every day. Being brilliant isn’t about perfection; it’s about doing your best and letting love guide you through life’s ups and downs. And for that, I’ll always be grateful to Mariposa, my little Madame Butterfly.
Read this article and others by Chris on Substack.
