Meow and Forever Ernie, My Ride or Die, My Hype man
“I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you; but instead, I am deeply honored knowing you spent the rest of your life with me”
This is one of the hardest goodbyes I’ve had to write in long time. Ernie, my orange tabby, the cat who came with a warning label, my ride or die, my insulin buddy is gone. And the world feels quieter, heavier, and strangely off balance without him here. I recall that before we bought him, on his cage was a warning label: 'Warning! Loves people but absolutely hates and will fight a dog.'
Ernie My Ginger Tabby
I’m ready when you’re ready. So let me have it. When he was diagnosed with diabetes, he took his insulin shots like a champ. He never needed reminders—he’d remind me, every morning like clockwork, as if it were just another part of his day.
Mornings with Ernie
And the world feels quieter, heavier, and strangely off balance without him here
Ernie wasn’t just a cat—he was a force. He was the cat who saved my life when our furnace malfunctioned and filled the house with carbon monoxide. In the dead of night, while I slept obliviously, Ernie didn’t. He nearly tore the hinges off my door, meowing and scratching until I woke up. His instincts and fierce loyalty saved me, and I’ll forever owe my life to him. How do you thank a cat for something like that? For being not just a companion, but a hero.
Ernie was a trooper in every sense. When he was diagnosed with diabetes, he took his insulin shots like a champ. He never needed reminders—he’d remind me, every morning like clockwork, as if it were just another part of his day. I often wondered if he understood the shots kept him going, if somewhere deep down he knew we were fighting for more time together. And fight we did.
Ernie My Ride or Die, My Hype man
And had I not run out of tears long ago…I would cry enough to bring on thunder…
His bravery didn’t stop there. I’ll never forget the time we were in a hotel, and Ernie walked straight past two pit bulls to get to my daughter’s room, as if he were invincible. His fearless spirit was part of what made him so special, so unique.
When Smokey, my beloved dog, passed away, it was Ernie who stepped up, without hesitation. For three mornings after Smokey died, Ernie would come into my room and lay beside my head, his presence a silent comfort. He wasn’t filling a void—no one could do that—but it was as though he knew I needed something to hold onto, something to remind me that I wasn’t alone. He gave me that.
And when my youngest child flew the nest to Canada, it was Ernie again who sensed the emptiness in the house. He’d let me snuggle with him every morning while my husband went off to work, his warmth filling the space my heart couldn’t. Ernie, in his quiet, steady way, was always there when I needed him most.
Now, he’s not.
The other cats—bless their quirky, wonderful souls—are still here, each with their own personalities, but none like Ernie. There’s no one to jump onto the arm of the couch and headbutt me, no one to meow “mee-om” at my door when I oversleep, no hype cat to keep my days on track. The house feels different without his energy, his presence.
Cat Teaser Wand
Got the wand in my hand, watch my kitty go wild,
Jumpin' high in the air, like a playful child.
Buy one for your lil buddy.
On the Road with Ernie and Blade
Ernie was a diplomat. He was the one who made Lily accept Blade into the fold. He introduced Blade to my mom.
Because of Ernie’s diabetes, vacations were never quite the same. We couldn’t just leave him behind, so Ernie became our travel companion, insulin and all. Wherever we went, he went. And somehow, he always managed to make himself at home, no matter where we landed. It was as though he knew he belonged, no questions asked.
Now, he’s not.
So Ernie became our travel companion, insulin and all. Wherever we went, he went. And somehow, he always managed to make himself at home, no matter where we landed.
Now, Blade, our other cat who’s on a special diet, has taken up that role. He too comes along for family trips to Grandma’s house. On one particular trip, after a couple of days at my mom’s, Ernie decided it was time for formal introductions. Out of the blue, he sauntered into my mom’s room, Blade in tow, like a proud host introducing a guest of honor. He walked right up to the bed, looked at my mom as if to say, “This is Blade. He’s part of the family now,” and then casually turned around and went back to his own room. When my mom told me about it, we had a good laugh. That was Ernie—always the diplomat, always making sure everyone was on the same page.
Tub of Catnip
Have you ever wondered why cats are allowed to get high. For example, dogs don’t have dog nip. Ever wonder about that?
It reminded me of when Blade first joined the group. Lily, our Maine Coon, wasn’t too keen on him at first, her disdain for the newcomer obvious. But Ernie, ever the peacemaker, stepped in. He stood up for Blade in that quiet yet commanding way he had. With Ernie’s stamp of approval, Blade slowly found his place in the family. It was Ernie’s way of letting Lily—and all of us—know that Blade was one of us now. Ernie had that rare gift of making everyone feel welcome and included, even the new guy.
Ernie was more than a cat—he was my shadow, my protector, my hero. And while I’ll miss him more than words can say, I know that every moment I had with him was a gift. He was one of a kind, and I was blessed to be his human.
Thank you, Ernie, for saving me in more ways than one. You’ll always be in my heart, my ride or die, meow and forever, buddy.