This is Geordi. He was a friendly farm cat who was going to be taken to a kill shelter, so I offered to take him. He enjoyed hanging around and was a really laid-back guy. Only cat I ever had who didn’t mind being taken to the vet. He’d enjoy if you petted him, but wasn’t ever a lap cat or overly touchy-feely. He also never slept on my bed, though I’d try to put him there. He preferred to lie on the couch alone or sprawl across the floor.

I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which has improved greatly over the past few years, but used to manifest in extreme anxiety and especially night terrors. I would have nightmares so terrifyingly real, I would wake up in cold sweats, convinced I was having a heart attack. On multiple occasions, instead of this, I would wake up to Geordi - who was a pretty big guy - lying on my chest, nudging me with his nose to wake up. His weight was soothing. He would stay there until I calmed down, then simply hop down and walk away. The ONLY time he ever did this was when I was in the middle of a horrible nightmare - I couldn’t pay him to lay on my chest in bed otherwise. To this day, I have no idea how he could tell what was happening. My husband says I don’t talk in my sleep, thrash around, or cry out, but somehow this cat knew I needed help. Geordi passed away last year at the age of 13 from a heart tumor, and I miss him terribly. But am so grateful for the times he saved me from myself.

My cat has given me more than I could ever return (but I will continue trying).

In college I went through a period of coming off of some prescription meds for mental illness (guided by my psychiatrist) that had been prescribed to me through a terrible dr that wouldn’t listen to the reactions I was having - but that’s another story.

anyway - I was going through a rough withdrawal, shaking vomiting mood swings chills etc., and a lingering effect to this day (luckily much more controlled now) was a form of narcolepsy. So here I was, showering as usual when I suddenly fell asleep, falling to the floor of my shower with water still beating down. At least an hour passed, my skin was red and felt inflamed from the hot water that was still beating down (that apartment building seemed to never run out of hot water), limbs in unnatural positions and bruised but there was my little cat meowing loudly in my face and pawing at my face (all the while getting wet himself in his effort to wake me up). I couldn’t believe it. He’s really been my little guardian angel ever since I was lucky enough to have him and even now he helps me in more ways than I could express.

Here’s my little nugget - loves to sleep in my hand 😂 I will Let my whole arm fall asleep and cramp before I move it so I don’t disturb him 😂 I’m sure many of you can relate

The week I brought my first cat Kiwi home, I also got my periods. That month it was nasty. I was not able get out of my bed, stand or do anything. Its was Kiwi’s 3rd or 4th day in our house, and she was still not comfortable with our touch and was getting used to things around the house.

When Kiwi was in my room, I started to get severe pain and started crying softly. To my surprise, she came near me, sniffed me, then sat on my lower belly. She stayed there until I fell asleep. She made sure I was comfortable and kept on licking me once in a while.

She is the sweetest cat I ever knew.

ig: Kiwi_the_scottishfold

**2.6k upvotes!! Wow!! Kiwi and I say thank you to all of you.**

**Thank you for all the sweet comments. I love how so many girls are giving me valuable suggestion on managing my period pains. Thank you so much girls!!**

I saw an orange feral kitten eating out of a trash can. After seeing him a few days in a row, I don’t know why, but I decided to trap him with a humane trap, get him neutered, and try to tame him. I spent a few weeks keeping him in a large wire dog crate/cage in a spare bedroom. I would leave regular food and water in the cage, and then try to entice him with chicken baby food (it’s called Kitty Crack by cat rescues) on a plastic spoon, duck taped to a long stick. He had a favorite hiding place made out of a shoebox with a t-shirt over it, the neck opening was the ‘door’, and he would stick out his head and lick the baby food out of the spoon. I talked to him a lot, read him books, sang to him and felt a fool. I thought anyone who could have watched this grey haired lady trying to convince this kitten to trust her would be amused.
One day, after the chicken baby food on a stick/spoon ritual, he paused, looked at me, and did this long meow. Never could I describe it, just thinking about the moment gives me chillbumps. Then he came out of his hiding place and beckoned to me, putting his front paws through the cage, to pet him.
He has trusted me, completely, utterly, ever since. He hides from everyone else. It was a magical and miraculous thing. He is the most loving, devoted pet I have ever had. And I will never let him down.
*updated photos to add a picture of him in the trap, and a picture of him in a pet carrier after he was ‘tame’ enough for me to take him to the vet for his updated shots.

The kindest thing a dog ever did for me was rescue me. I used to inspect vacant houses for a real estate company. One Friday evening on my way home the boss man called in a last minute favor for one more. I arrived to find a rather intimidating dog sprawled across the porch. My thought was I've either got a new friend or I'm dinner.

I felt so bad for this poor thing as she was covered in ticks, flys were chewing on her ears, she had ribs showing, just pure neglect. I asked some neighbors and they said she did have a home but the man beat dogs with a chain. The city would respond to complaints and he would somehow avoid prosecution. Hence why she was never home.The neighbor assured she would be a good pet for someone. I decided that I would turn her into our local no-kill shelter in the morning as I couldn't leave her to further deteriorate. She certainly needed saving.

After some coaxing I was able to get her in my truck. She didn't trust me and I wasn't sure about her. She didn't seem too fond of the truck ride. My middle daughter is the big animal lover. All animals go to her always. This girl was no different. We had 3 cats already and a bunny. This 50 lb. girl was petrified of them all. We gave her a much needed bath, she hated every minute, think stiff goat stance. We stopped counting how many tics after 100. Cleaned her wounded ears and tried giving her a treat. She gently took it and then gently nibbled on it for hours. She ate a little but she was hesitant to drink much. She picked a little stuff frog to cuddle up with after her traumatic bath experience and fell asleep immediately.

The morning I was to take her in... my daughter pleaded with me to let her stay. She even named her. So that was how we rescued a dog named Lily.

It was within the first week this sweet, gentle girl was getting more comfortable. She never barked. She didn't know what a toy was for or even a bone. She didn't play fetch. She didn't know how. One of the kids picked up a stick to throw and she wimpered and recoiled. This girl had been thru something. She didn't know how to be a dog. Yet she immediately was the perfect pet. Didn't chew anything, respected the cats, went to the door each time she needed out, waited until she had permission to eat, and even lay down. She could even be walked without a lead and she never left anyone's side. Her only flaw was she would get out every day somehow. My younger daughter was 9 years old at the time and she was infamous for letting the cats out by not closing the door all the way. She was reminded everyday to be careful and yet Lily would still get out. The second week my older daughter noticed how Lily was more excited to see me than her. How silly. She loves everyone.

That week I had a day off mid week so I didn't leave as early. I was home alone with Lily for the first time. She was alseep when I went to shower. Mid shower I felt a thump and something banging repeatly. I panic thinking maybe Lily and the cats were having issues. I hurry out of the bathroom to find Lily at the front door opening it so she could go outside. She immediately comes to me as if she hadn't seen me in forever. The noise was her unlocking the deadbolt by hopping up and batting with her nose.

So it was true. My daughter was right. She did want to be around me more. Starting that day she was my permanent co-pilot. I didn't run to the corner store without her. I didn't eat without her. I didn't sleep without her. If I went right she went right. She was so well behaved I could take her to work. She loved exploring houses with me. I walked her daily. Something my doctor had been scolding me for not doing for years.

The reason I say she rescued me is because the month before I met her, I learned my beloved husband had an affair. I was crushed. We were in therapy trying to work things out but I was numb. She brought me back from the brink. I didn't realize how checked out I had become.

After having this sweetheart by my side for a year, my Mother was involved in a horrific car accident. She survived the crash but with horrible wounds. The next four months were spent watching my fiesty tough Mom suffer a slow painful death. The cruelest of cruel. No one deserves that. I wanted to follow her. But I couldn't. I had kids and a dog.

Lily got me out and about everyday. She would put her head on the headrest at just the right moment when we were traveling around. Patting that soft head and her even softer ears were better therapy than any doctor. The way she looked at me as if I was the best person ever made me want to be that person.

I had been so focused on healing her and making sure she never suffered again that I didn't notice she was doing the same for me. She was even by myside at my Mom's funeral. My rock.

In a years time Lily went from being a timid scared of everyone and everything girl to prancing thru life with her head held high. People that didn't particularly like dogs loved her. She even began to make doggie friends. She seemed a little bummed when we'd leave the dog park or our friend's house that had a dog she loved to visit. We needed to change that.

After 18 months I found a boy to rescue. He wasn't abused but he was neglected as they didn't have time for the him. We went to meet him. It was love at first sight for them both. And me too. Enter Louie.

He is a snoring, ball obsessed, vocal, clueless sweet American Bulldog. He taught Lily that being a dog really can be fun. She played with toys, chewed bones, dug a couple of holes in the yard. I wasn't upset. I was glad she finally had dog fun. So now I had two co-pilots.

A random visit by one of my daughter's life long friends would change everything. I left the room for less than five minutes and for some reason she decided to let the dogs out, not into the fenced yard but the front. It had snowed that day. A deer happened to appear. The dogs gave chase. After nearly 48 hours of searching and near misses I got the call I didn't ever want. They were found on the side of the highway, Lily was hit and killed but Louie was fine. He was on top of her trying to keep her warm and wouldn't leave her. I thought watching my Mother fade away was the worst suffering I would ever endure but seeing the sweetest dog lying there with the second sweetest crying real tears was close. My Mom loved Lily too and I hope they are together waiting for me.

After the accident Louie suffered from intense grief. He stopped eating, drinking, even playing ball. We had to admit him to the vet clinic for a few days to heal him. The vet recommended another dog to help him to fully heal. I couldn't imagine it. But after seeing him suffer. He was even unable to rest unless they allowed him to sleep outside of another girls kennel. Sadly there are no shortage of unwanted pets. Meet Phoebe.

She is a Tasmania Devil Terrier Mix. She is the best worst dog ever. She definitely helped Louie forget about his grief. Her life's mission is to drive each one of us insane. Lily is laughing somewhere right now I'm sure.

I never knew how old she was. I never knew what breed of dog she was. I never knew how she had so many manners. I do know she wasn't just a dog. I do know she loved me unconditionally. I do know I found her but she rescued me.

Twenty five years ago a tiny black kitten all but jumped into my car when I stopped briefly in a deserted industrial complex. The temperature was 104 degrees and she let me know she was dying. Without a second thought, I swooped her up and brought her home. I’d always been a cat lover, but this little girl had a highly developed ability to sense trouble and alerted me to it whenever she knew I was oblivious to a threatening situation or person within my home. She became my little girl. I learned to trust her instincts and relied upon her ability to convey her warnings with great clarity and accuracy.

The winter she turned five and I forty-nine, I began slipping into a depression both mentally and physically. Throughout the first month she remained close by me and demonstrated her concern and support. The beginning of my second month of decline, she began smelling my breath numerous times throughout each day and gently prodded and smelled my body parts with keen interest. One week into the third month of this activity she became singularly focused on my right breast and began pouncing on a specific spot whenever I was in a reclined position or sleeping. Her ritual pouncing on my breast and awakening me from sleep was irritating and I began pushing her off me and yelling at her in anger while ignoring her as punishment; something I’d never done before. Surprisingly, this only served as a signal for her to double down on her behavior and sleep attacks.

I awoke late one night to find her sitting directly on top of my right breast and staring deep into my eyes; and finally I understood her warning clearly as if she spoke the words; you have breast cancer and I found it for you. I sat up and began hugging her to show her I finally understood. She remained beside me throughout that dark night until morning light signaled us it was time for me to handle this threat to my life. Forty days later I underwent surgery for a double mastectomy. Three different forms of breast cancer had been discovered growing inside the milk tubes of both my breast; all stage one cancers with one small tumor that was the beginning efforts of the cancer’s spread exactly where she had shown me.

Long ago I saved a little black kitten from certain death, and she rewarded me by saving my life in return. Her name was Kit-Kat and though she passed over the rainbow 🌈 ten years ago, she remains in my heart, mind and soul forever.

My dog gave her life to save my son.

Cindy, my dog, was six years old and she was the most home-loving and obedient dog. I loved her and she knew it. When my son was born, she was immediately very protective over him. She’d sit beside his pram for hours, popping her front legs up onto the pram every now and then to make sure he was ok.

My son was almost three years old. We lived near a busy road and we were super vigilant at always child-proofing the front door - without exception. My son, as young children can be, was into everything. We’d often find him in the kitchen at 4 am with a concoction of cereal, milk, dry dog food, eggs, etc all mixed up on the kitchen floor. He was that kind of child - into everything. He also watched everything we would do and try to mimic us in his own unique way, often with highly amusing consequences.

One morning, again around 4 am, he somehow managed to ‘escape’ through his bedroom window. To rewind a little, Cindy knew not to go outside (apart from the garden) without us. We could have left the front door open all day (when my son was visiting with grandparents) and she’d never venture out. She also knew that our son wasn't allowed to go through the front door without us, evidenced by her pushing at him if he fiddled with the front door handle. She didn't know that it was double locked. This day, she followed my son through the window.

At 5 am, the police woke us knocking on the door. Their words were - “your son was nearly killed but your dog copped it”. They then reiterated what the lorry driver had said…

He told them that he was driving along in the dark and in the distance he could see something ‘light coloured’ moving on the road. As he got closer, he could see a dog at the side of the road barking and barking at the ‘light coloured’ something. At the last moment, he realised that this was a child and was about to swerve. He said he could see the dog, still barking and glancing between the truck and the child. While the driver was braking, the dog ran out into the road, jumped at the child’s back and threw him out of the path of the lorry and at the same time, the lorry hit the dog and killed her.

According to the police, the driver said that he'd never believe what he saw unless it was with his own eyes. He said that the dog definitely knew the danger which is why she was barking so anxiously. He said “that dog just saved that kid’s life and it knew what it was doing.”

That was 39 years ago and I still miss Cindy every day. She was a rough collie (a lassie dog) and I can understand why this breed was chosen for the movies.

Edit

Several people have asked for a photo of Cindy. This is my lovely girl…

The quality of next one is awful. This is Cindy with my son when he was a baby.

My Jazzpurr was an incredible kitty who took his nursing duties very seriously whenever I was ill. Let me preface this with the fact that I have had a total of 8 knee surgeries in my life so me having knee surgery was nothing really new to him.

This one surgery though - and it was the only one where something went wrong - I was in really bad shape. I was in bed with my leg elevated. Jazz purr never left my side while I was in bed. If I got up for any reason, that was when he would go use the litter box, eat, etc. Now, Jazzpurr was not our only kitty at the time. His mother, Kahlua, was also still with us.

It was quite possibly one of my worst nights of the entire recovery. I was sobbing, my ex (narcissistic prick) knew that I was one of those people who had to eat with pain medication or I would get quite sick. So of course, he made me wait a good hour and a half after my pain pill dosage was due before even bothering to bring me dinner. I was in a place where there was no way I could get up and do that for myself either. Every movement was pure hell.

Finally, after a little while, I had to drag myself out of bed to go use the bathroom. When I got back to bed, Kahlua jumped up on the bed. A couple minutes later, Jazzpurr tried to jump up on the bed as well. Kahlua blocked him from doing so. He must have tried five or six times. Finally, he figured out that if he came up from the other direction, he could get up there. By the time he finally got back to me, he literally had tears streaming down his face. He gave a huge sigh of relief and took his place cuddled up next to me with one paw gently placed on my heavily bandaged knee. After that, during the rest of my recovery (usually from those surgeries, I was up and about and walking a mile within 2 weeks but that particular time, I had to have my knee drained weekly and could not even start physical therapy for another 3 months and once I was fully healed, they had to go back in - which was one of my faster recoveries), if I got up, Jazzpurr would quite obviously hurry while I was up, checking on me every couple of minutes and walking back to bed with me, at which point he would jump up as I sat down. He was an incredible little boy.

A few years later, he passed away in the night. When I woke up, he had reached out and laid his paw on my cheek as he passed. It was as if he was trying to take care of me one more time.

THis is Ashley. I was broke , I had bought her cat food with my last few rands , and it was 2 days from pay day. There was no food in the house. I went to bed hungry , and next morning i made her breakfast , and this beautiful creature looked at me , turned around and went out the window. I was thinking , great abandoned by the cat as well , and then i heard a Muffled Rowl. That sound i know , she came jumping through the window with a pigeon she had just caught , and dumped it by my feet. She looked at me and battered her eyes and cleaned herself. It was like she knew i was hungry , so she went and caught me something to eat.
What a beautiful soul …

My pet dog, Leslie, literally saved my life one day.

It was a year ago, I was still in 11th grade and I was having a lot of mental issues and school problems (failing, absent, sick, etc.) that pushed me to the edge.

It was a Wednesday and my other two dogs were out getting groomed and everyone went out to eat, leaving me and Leslie alone together. I had sent messages to my teachers, friends, parents, and followers saying goodbye to them and sat on the ground with my parents gun behind me, I even set up a cardboard box to shoot myself in so it would be less of a mess to clean. I was writing my suicide note and heard some whining, I looked over to my door and saw Leslie staring at me with her ears down.

I gave her kisses and sat back down but then she forced herself onto my lap, like, pushed my arms aggressively out of the way to lay on my lap. Because of this I couldn’t move, I couldn’t reach the gun behind me, I didn’t want to move, because she looked so nervous and concerned and even when I tried to move she would growl. She growls as a way of talking so she wasn’t trying to scare me. She stayed there long enough for my neighbors to come busting my door down and finding me.

She’s my hero (✿◠‿◠)

While you’re here, have some pictures of my doggies!!!

They keep me going in life! (^ｰ^)

[Edit]: Omg thx for the kind words! I tell my dogs all the lovely things you’ve been saying to them!

I’m now in 12th grade and I still struggle especially with self harm right now, all these kind words are very comforting and have made me think twice about hurting myself. My dogs have been a huge help through all of this as well, making me go to them for comfort and love when others are unavailable. They are my three big reasons why I can’t kill myself. I just have too much love and care to give them!!

My dog gave me my “self” back and saved my life.

I became disabled in 2006 after doctors screwed up. I was devastated; I found the physical and emotional pain untenable, and the grief was unrelenting. Every day I died a little more inside. I started using a wheelchair- when you use a wheelchair, people love to point it out to you. They don’t realise how cruel it feels to hear things like “Look out! don’t run me over hahahaha!” and “Gee, you’re pretty good with that thing” and “Look out or you’ll get a speeding ticket!” It made me not want to go anywhere. I felt like I wasn’t a real person anymore… life was very dark.

Then Taska came into my life as my assistance dog.

She is a lovely Black Lab, the most chilled and confident dog ever.

Suddenly, I could do things again. I didn’t need to ask for help from people, admitting over and over how useless I was- to Taska, getting things from low shelves or off the floor was a game she loves to play. I find myself saying “we can do it myself” when people ask if I need help.

She can even open doors.

I didn’t need to grip my knickers in the disabled toilet- Taska was happy to pull them back up.

But, the absolute best part- my wheelchair seemed to disappear: all anyone sees is my dog. I’ve gone from a cripple in a chair to a person with a dog- and it feels a lot better this way.

When I get anxious, she comforts me. When I need help, she helps. I’m never alone, as she is my constant loving companion.

,

I have a tabby cat, Sweetie Boy.

An ironic and embarrassing, soul-crushing name I deliberately bestowed on him because he was a complete prick of a cat.

As a narcissistic freeloader on four legs, he was unpredictably nasty with a mean streak, igniting hellfire at whim and mostly standoffish, except of course when it came to his meal times.

I still loved him, he was mine, but he was all teeth and tongue, snarl and spit; a real loose cannon and a challenging cat to own no doubt about it.

Friday, 13th November 2009.

Sydney, the tail end of Spring. No one had said Be ready for annihilation.

I was diagnosed with advanced inoperable cancer. Triply disadvantaged. Straight up, it wasn’t looking good. I left my medical team with grave concern etched on their faces, came home and Sweetie Boy leapt off the couch, ready to be fed his dinner. Mechanically and on auto-pilot, I got his favourite tin of Fancy Feast gourmet cat food from the kitchen cupboard, peeled off the lid, slopped it into his bowl then shambled to the bedroom and slumped onto the bed, reeling in the after-shock from what had unfolded for me in the hospital earlier that evening.

I lay deathly still in the semi-darkness staring up at the ceiling or what could’ve been the cold voids of space - I don’t know, they seemed one and the same. Stuck in the vortex of a sudden mortality crisis, emotionally crushed and existentially terrified, I was trying to process the news that death was eyeballing me and I was now dying at a much faster rate than usual.

I laid there perhaps for two minutes or so ... Sweetie Boy wanders in. This is strange I thought. He’s usually preoccupied with his food taking a good five to eight minutes to polish it off and so I knew he hadn’t really eaten.

I was wondering what he was doing in my room.

As I said, not the most affectionate cat. Occasionally he’d rub up against my legs or let me pat him, or you’d pick him up and he’d emit a low growl but you never knew when he’d lash out and skin you alive. He kind of made me nervous and I had the scars on my arms to justify it, so I didn’t do it too often; most the time he kept his distance and didn’t initiate affection much.

So he jumps up onto the bed. In the midst of my quiet grief I’m not in the mood for his instability but I’m wondering what he’s doing. He sits at the foot of the bed, intermittently grooming himself, trying maybe to act cool, but I see he’s also checking me out. Then he walks up, sniffing around me and the air as he goes – perhaps he could smell the clinical pong of the hospital on me, or who knows, maybe he could detect the cancer, but it doesn’t matter; because of his usually volatile nature I’m naturally suspicious.

Finally he puts his two front paws onto my stomach that rises up and down, up and down from my short breaths, looks straight up at me and … clearly we’re having a weird moment, weird for us anyway … we’re having some strange cross-species moment, animal to human.

I lay very still. I know he’s a mean son-of-a-gun and wouldn’t put it past him he’s traded his food for a better and more opportune moment to prey instinctively on the newfound vulnerability of his mistress, to whip me right across the face with his clawed paw out of nowhere!

But I am sensing … a twinkling moment, something different between us.

Breaking into a lovely hypnotic sound I’d never heard from him that’s almost in sync with my own stilted breathing, he transforms into … a real live calming purr machine. A furry bundle of true sweetness. He’s living up to his name for the first time still staring into my eyes as though he’s goddamn staring into my soul. I’m really starting to wonder what the hell is going on now. He’s sniffing oddly up close and personal to my face, his whiskers tickling my cheeks somewhat.

Love? Could Sweetie Boy actually be looking at me right now with real love in his eyes?? Tears start flowing because tenderly the message comes through crystle clear from him - I know something’s up and I’m here for you and I’m doing what I can.

But notwithstanding he soon jumps off the bed and the moment of affection is over - BUT instead of walking out of the room he gets comfortable, lays on the floor right next to me, still purring and soothing, and stays there the whole night, doesn’t leave my side.

Cat food still in the bowl the next morning which he eventually eats.

It was a one-off for Sweetie Boy - who’s 9 now (I’m 8 miraculous years in remission) and thankfully his foul nature has mostly tempered out with mid-age! - but alone in a crisis moment he was genuinely there, not to mention paradoxically calm and nurturing, when I really did need him.

I’ll never forget it.

• Update: I wrote this post on 22 December 2017 - today, 8 January 2020, after a beautiful life, Sweetie Boy was put to sleep after being diagnosed with cancer at age 12. I was there for him until his last moment. He will be buried in one of his favourite spots, next door, under the ghost gum trees in the nature reserve that he so loved to frequent

A couple of weeks ago, my female cat that had recently been pregnant (don’t worry she’s fixed now) developed some really hard lumps in her nipple area. The sane and rational thing would be to assume it was mastitis/ blocked milk in her breasts from the kittens nursing. But she didn’t have any other symptoms of what’s described as mastitis, in fact by what these masses felt like etc she fit all the symptoms for mammary tumours, of which only a small percent aren’t cancerous in the cat world, (Scary!) she is also a Siamese and this breed of cat is 2x more likely to develop mammary tumours than any other cat, and at a younger age. (Even scarier) anyway being the big baby that I am I let the internet get the better of me. I was on the phone to the vets crying like a baby and trying to get an appointment booked. I was in such a bad state because even though it was likely going to be something very safe, the latter was almost definitely going to kill her ( by the size of the lumps etc if it had been cancer)

Anyway not drag this out much longer… but when I looked into the possibilities of what these lumps could be… I was genuinely beginning to accept that she might be dead soon. I was crying my eyes out. Pandora is not a lap cat or a “pick me up please” cat. She it is very affectionate and sweet, will run up and head but me, purr at the sight of me and want to be stroked by me and near me at all times but… if I pick her up she hates it and will NOT indulge.

Anyway, (before the vets visit, and before being told she’s totally fine) in my pathetic breakdown I picked pandora up, tears streaming down my face, I was just expecting her to jump off of me really, but instead, she burrowed her head into my neck, curled up in my arms and began to purr really loud in my ear, letting me hold her and stay in my arms whilst i cried. Kissing me with those cute cat head buts they do. Knowing what I know about this cat and her usual love language being at a distance, this was truly so special to me, that she stayed in my arms and let me hug her, and cry to her and having her hug me back. Just to tell me it would all be okay. This was something I know she did out of love and kindness, she doesn’t like being held usually and I know she truly wanted to comfort me.

she was fine in the end. It was just some blocked milk from the kittens being weaned. Here she is being beautiful

What is the kindest thing a pet has done for you?

Update 9 OCT 2023: I am now 8 years, 4 months and 1 week post-surgery. Still showing no signs of active, cancer related disease.

(Edit 6 SEP 2020: I usually add the original question as Quora has a habit of combining questions where slight changes of meaning may actually make my answer moot.)

This is me, crashed out the day after chemo in late 2015. I’m a pancreatic cancer survivor.

Mostly white kitty, the semi-famous Miss Teia Honey (06/1997 - 11/2018), feral born, rescued from the street at age 2, kept as an unsocialized house feral by her rescuer, adopted by us at age 12. We waged a campaign of patient, persistent kindness and she came around.

She was a little over 18 here. Before the cancer, Teia did not often sleep on me, same after. It was every day during the active sickness, treatment and healing. I think she was trying to pay me back by guarding me.

She was sometimes accompanied by her young courtier, Mr Buff, 17 years her junior.

We lost her to kidney failure at age 21 years 5 months. Buff turned 6 a little earlier this year.

ED. 2 DEC 2020: I am now 5 1/2 years post-Whipple.

This is Pikachu, I ran up to me meowing his head off, when he was 3 weeks old. I took care of him and bottle fed him. He became my shadow.

One night, he started running all over me growling. I thought it was the garbage truck because for some reason he always growled at the garbage truck. So I fell sleep again. Then he woke me up again running all over me and growling, this time I smelled burning rubber and I got up and open the door to check and there was smoke. My SUV caught fire in the garage. We all got out in time.

The second time, I got devastating news and I was in bed crying. He came and ever so gently laid down on my chest and started to purr loudly while touching my cheek with his paw.

The third time was when I came back early from school because I was experiencing low blood pressure. I laid down and fell asleep and all of a sudden I woke up to something pulling my lip. I was Pikachu who was standing over me. I fell asleep again only to be awoken again in the same way. This happened every 15 min over the course of 2 hours, until the last time he smelled me for a while and then turned around and left. I believed he knew when my blood pressure was dangerously low and he would wake me up.

He crossed the rainbow bridge when he was 13 years old, but not before teaching my other cats a thing or two.

This is Boni, who taught me that love is stronger than hate, healer of all wounds, creator of life and hope. I gave to her a little and she returned it by giving me everything. I will first tell you about the smaller thing that I did for her, and then the amazing way she repaid me, hundred times more.

1. How Boni came to stay

In 2011 I went to Gospić, a small town not far from the city where I live. I spent the day there at an exhibition. It was a cold autumn day, with rain falling heavily the entire time. Evening came, and the event was over. It was time to head home, but I decided to go to the store to get some juice for the road. As I came out of the store and was heading for my car, I saw something move strangely towards me across the parking lot.

At first I could not make out what it was, because of its strange movement, and then I realized it was a dog. It was walking on its front feet, dragging its hind feet behind. I concluded it must had been hit by a car or had some other accident, that damaged its feet or spine. As I made a move towards the dog, it flinched in fear. I stopped and then the dog continued his difficult drag towards me.

When it came near, I realized it was a girl. Her condition was so bad that I was completely shocked. Her whole body was covered in wounds, heavily mixed with ticks. As I learned later, her wounds came from being severely and continuously beaten, and burned with cigarettes. There was the big wound on her shoulder, and the bare red round burned mark at the top of her head. Her breasts were very long, but completely dry, which meant that she had a litter, and actually nursed the puppies, but they were gone.

As I saw her condition, I decided I could not leave her there, even for one more second. I put her in my car and off we went. Since I had 2 dogs at home already, my initial plan was to bring her to my city and take her to the dog shelter. However, when I arrived it was night, and I decided to take her home, give her a bath, free her of the ticks and keep her safe until the next morning.

When we came home, I realized that she could walk. Her hind feet were completely fine, but she dragged them out of fear that I would beat her.

After we arrived, I bathed huge amounts of filth of of her. Then I took out all the ticks from her body. I stopped counting at 100. She was unable to eat, but she drunk a little and then curled on the soft dog bed, with her eyes open, as if she could not grasp what was happening. I am convinced that she had never been inside a house for a moment in her life before. When I saw her like that, I sat besides her on the floor. She came close to me and fell asleep. I spent the night with her on the floor.

The next morning I was supposed to take her to the dog shelter, but I took her to the vet instead. Her condition was horrific. She was severely malnourished (4,5kg, and her optimal weight is 11kg). She had internal injuries from the beatings. When any of us approached her, or made a sudden movement, she would pee on the floor, and her pee had blood in it. She was deeply traumatized to the point of shutting down. The vet said that she would not have lasted days if I had not taken her.

Then he asked about microchipping her. He wondered when I would take her to the shelter, and what to write in the official dog ID that he had to make for her. I looked at her and I dictated to the vet:

Her name is Boni.

He wrote it down, and then said he would leave the owner field empty until someone adopts her. I said:

She is mine.

The vet looked at me surprised, knowing I already had 2 dogs at home.

Are you sure? - he asked, and as I looked into her eyes that had no spark and no life in them, I said:

Completely.

And so our journey begun. I took her to her forever home, hoping love would heal her, because that was one thing I had in abundance.

I bought her a pretty red collar, to mark her belonging, and got her a toy, because every dog deserves a toy of their own. She did not really need a collar, because she walked glued to my leg, with her eyes on me all the time. And when I gave her the toy she could not understand what it was.

I introduced her to her pack, and my girls welcomed and accepted her.

And then slowly, slowly she started to come to us. As her physical wounds healed in the safety of her new home, and as her body started being strong by being fed and sheltered, love started healing those other, deeper wounds.

It took about a month for her wounds to get covered with hair and heal. It took her 2 months to stop peeing out of fear. 6 months passed and she started playing with my other dogs and toys. After a life of surviving, Boni started living, and what a joy it was to see her transformation!

Hanging with the crowd

Celebrating her first birthday with us.

And her first Christmas

2. What Boni did for me:

I have 2 children. They are not just mine, but Boni’s as well. From the moment they were born, she took them in as if they were her own. She slept underneath their cribs, running to notify us at the slightest sound. She was always near as they were starting to crawl, and when they got up on their feet, she stood firmly so they would hold on to her for balance. If they pulled her hair as they tried to walk, that was ok. My both children learned to walk with Boni’s help. Up to this day, she is their protector and friend.

Her love and devotion to our entire family is out of this world. I am certain that she would die for us. To think that anyone ever hurt her and left her for dead is beyond understanding to me. She is the example of unconditional love. It always finds its way through the darkness and despair into the light of a better future.

There is a beautiful spark in her eyes now, full of life and playful joy.

Thank you, Boni.

My Siberian husky spent 13 weeks in the hospital with me. Never leaving my side except when a friend came by to walk her and take he to go to the bathroom. She made me laugh all the time and visited other and brought them happiness while we were stuck in the hospital.

My husband wanted a dog. We had 3 already but they bonded to me. We got Star in December of 2019. We called her our “Christmas Star”. The dog bonded to my husband and he decided to try and train it as a service dog for his epilepsy. In May of this year, I was laying on the couch and Star came up and kept on putting her nose by my carotid artery, which was against my pillow. Then she put her head on my chest above my heart with her ear down like she was listening for something. Then she sat back, did the Husky Head Tilt (she's a husky/black lab mix) then laid down by me on the floor by the couch. This was unusual because she never came by me unless my hubby was in the same room as me. 5 minutes after this happened I had a major heart attack. Since then, she comes in periodically and checks on me if I'm laying on the couch. She'll put her nose by my carotid artery, look at me, then lick my nose. I think that means “you're ok mom” and walks off back to my hubby.

My other rescue, Hollie, is a Chihuahua/German Shepherd mix and lets me know when my depression is going too far south. I'm bipolar 2 (depression heavy) and she has saved my life more times than I care to think about. She gets on my lap, puts her head on my chest and looks up like “mommy I know you are sad…I'll stay with you till you feel better…don't leave me cus I still need you”. My husband comes in and sees me crying and hugging Hollie. “F*ck, I'll get your emergency meds hon.” He gives me them and then thanks Hollie for taking care of me. Furbabies are amazing.

Star decided she wanted to have a comfy seat to watch TV.

Hollie: “Momma, no more pictures. I'm trying to sleep on the bed.”

I had just gotten my dog Charlie about 3 weeks before I found out I had to get spinal surgery. At the time he was 5 months old and a rescue (ran away and was picked up by a shelter and subsequently adopted by yours truly). Post surgery I was having terrible pain to the point where they needed pain management to get involved. I am not normally a prescription drug user and I have a very high tolerance for pain, but I had a whole assortment of drugs to try to deal with this level of pain.

It had gotten so bad that I was having trouble sleeping and therefore my body couldn't properly recover and the doctors were getting concerned. So pain management prescribed a few new meds along with increasing the doses of the current ones. Needless to say that even though I trusted the doctors, I was actually really scared to take all the new pills and (try to) go to sleep. In retrospect, I probably should have had someone come and watch me, but hindsight is always 20/20.

So I turned to Charlie after taking the pills and sarcastically said something like, "If I don't wake up, just start barking, someone will come get you." I laid down in bed flat on my back and waited for the medicine to kick in and the pain to subside enough for me to fall asleep. Charlie normally sleeps on the floor next to the bed. But that night, not only did he get in the bed with me for the first time (which he is always allowed to do anyway), but he put one paw on my wrist and laid his head down on my shoulder with his nose pointing up towards my mouth so (I'm assuming) he could smell my breath. I thought this was a little weird considering he normally sleeps on the ground but I initially didn't think much of it.

As the medicine started to kick in and the pain actually did subside a bit (for the first time post surgery), I started to relax a little and dose off. Every little movement I made, his head would pop up, smell my breath, and then drop back down gently on my shoulder. I noticed him doing this a few times before I finally fell asleep for good. I don't think he went to sleep that night. I was actually able to sleep for about 6 hours (until the medicine wore off) and when I woke up he was still awake in the same position with his paw on my wrist and nose near my mouth smelling my breath. I sat up and got out of bed and went in to the other room to the couch. He walked with me right at my side. Then when I sat down on the couch, he walked over to the dog bed, plopped down and went right to sleep. He slept for literally about 3 hours straight without moving. I haven't seen him sleep for more than about 45 minutes at a time since.

I don't know why he decided to do any of that and he certainly hasn't done anything like it since (though he does share the bed with me from time to time). I am not even entirely sure he stayed next to me the whole time (though I would like to believe he did). I just know he was there when I went to sleep and there in the exact same spot when I awoke. A little over a year later, he still comes to check on me every night before settling in on the floor or in his dog bed (or occasionally my bed). But I genuinely feel like he was keeping watch over me that night.

My best friend Charlie.

(I'd say gratuitous cuteness for up votes, but he actually always looks like this).

Eat her food!

I live in Texas, and we had an ice storm that lasted all week at the beginning of 2021. During that time, my cat was very happy eating her own food. She didn’t have to touch my other cat’s food, so that was fine.

But when I ran out of her food it was a disaster. She wouldn’t eat my other cat’s food at all, and wouldn’t even eat a can of food that I had saved for such events. She threw up the lot.

So, just now, I went to the store to buy some food for her and was lucky enough to get her brand, but a different formula - the shelves are practically bare because no trucks have been able to get into the town to stock up.

What a happy cat - I could see her smiling! And I am smiling, too, because she was kind enough to eat her food.

The kindest thing I have seen a pet do happened after that pet was hit by a car nearly 50 years ago.

Her name was Daffy, a beloved poodle-spitz mix that my kids and I received as a Christmas gift two years earlier from someone who had been grateful to me for something. Daffy and and my sons, particularly the oldest boy, were the boy-dog trio where one finds it hard to separate one from the other.

One day Daffy disappeared, gone all day. Late that night I found her under the house, barely able to whine. I pulled her out though a small opening then realized she couldn’t stand so I got a couch cushion to lay her on and carried her into the house.

You kinda’ have to see the scene to appreciate what happened. The dog lay on her side looking limp and glassy-eyed, obviously near death, with my oldest son, about nine years old, sitting on his knees beside her, his face in one hand as he sobbed audibly, his other hand lying on his knee.

A few feet away I stood by the wall phone, heartbroken for her and even more wrenched knowing how hard this was for the kids, trying to figure out what to do.

We were desperately poor. As a single mom, I was trying to get though college and raise kids at same time so there was never enough money even for necessities. As close to death as Daffy was, even if I could find a vet wiling to do this on payments, what were the chances the precious money wouldn’t just be for a lost cause?

But as I stood there deliberating, this broken little dog, so nearly spent, raised up her wobbly head to lick my son’s hand, to comfort him.

All these years later, I feel tears as I write, knowing that it was one of the most heroic, most generous things I’d ever seen, that even in her pain, this sweet pal didn’t want him to cry.

Seeing her do that, I was so struck that I would have sold my car to save her, even if she died I had to try. Instantly, expecting to be ridiculed for thinking anyone would help when no money was available, I got on the phone, called the eight or nine vets in the phone book. The only one who would talk to me was the last one. I promised I’d pay him so much a month (like $5 or $10 dollars) if he would help. He said okay. (Beside Dafffy, he was the 2nd hero in this story, a vet who trusted (probably just hoped) he would get paid. I can’t recall his name but I will never forget him. In 1972 he was at the Webb City, Missouri clinic on Rangeline).

This Vet later told us that he didn’t know how Daffy had survived. Besides a broken pelvis, her lungs had been punctured with her intestines shoved up inside. Especially after I had pulled her none too gently out from under the house, how painful it must have been for her to move at all, yet she did, for love.

I got the vet bill paid and Daffy lived for another ten years, to do more favors for our family, but none so poignant as this.

A dog saved me.

I’d lost twins during the 2nd trimester, and I was devastated. All I wanted to do was cry, and I was disappointed when I woke up each morning.

My brother, who knows me so well, including my love of animals, said that I needed a dog.

At my local shelter, a sickly bag of bones made eye contact with me, started wagging her tail, and walked over to meet me. Yes, I knew I’d been chosen. She and I nursed each other back to robust health. Every morning, when it was time to take her outside, she’d stand next to the bed and wag her tail so much that the entire mattress shook — a canine alarm clock! I woke up laughing; no more starting my day with sadness. She was my joy and my anchor.

When it was time to say goodbye to my sweet girl — she was age 14 — I thanked her for having saved me.

Q: What is the kindest thing a pet has done for you?

A: When I was a little kid, I was living with my grandparents. They were of a different generation. My grandmother was raised in the Great Depression. My grandfather was a fair bit older than her, so he was of a certain mindset.

Children should be seen, not heard. Men were the breadwinners. Women were to stay home with the children. You raised children to fear punishment. Strong Catholic married to a Baptist.

There was always fighting in the house. Arguing about how my grandmother was too this or too that. Spent too much money on this or that. I would hide in my room, making myself as small as I could. The fights were sometimes violent.

I had a dog. When my father bought him, we were told he was a German Shepard. I think he was likely mostly a mutt. His name was Blackie. Please excuse the name, this was the mid 70’s and it was what a five year old child named her dog. Here he is:

Photo from personal library.

We were the only white family on the block and I was the only girl my age. He was my best friend. He was my only friend. He would let me put nail polish on his claws. He let me do whatever five year old kids do to dogs that result in internet memes that just break your heart with how stupidly cute they are…

His kindness was that he was my protector and friend. I dressed him up in my grandfather’s clothes. I cut a hole in the pants for his tail. We played for hours, just the two of us.

But even more importantly, he kept me grounded in a house full of insanity. He never left my side. When my grandfather came at me, hands raised in anger, Blackie growled and attacked him. When someone climbed into my bedroom window, grabbing me, trying to pull me out the window, he attacked the intruder, chasing him off the property. Blackie protected me.

When I was crying, he would console me. When I was at the dark place that only children living in an abusive home know, he was there giving me the love that is so desperately needed in that sea of chaos.

I will never forget his love and kindness to me.

*Edit: I found one surviving photo of him in my father’s things when we were cleaning up his room.

It was just over a week ago, on my 15 1/2 year old dog's last night alive. My dog hadn't been able to climb up the stairs to my bedroom in quite a while, and I had made a bed for her in the living room. That last night I stayed in the living room with her, lying (mostly awake) on a chair cushion on the floor by her bed all night.

And my cuddliest, lovingest, most nurturing cat kept walking up to me, patting my arm, and staring intently into my face. She did this three or four times in the course of the night.

She's usually cuddly, but this was different. She didn't climb onto me, or rub her face against me, or roll over and ask for a belly rub (yes, this cat really does like belly rubs), or knead me with her paws. She didn't even purr. She just kept patting my arm and gazing at me with this really intense stare. (And as most cat people know, cats aren't big on that sort of sustained eye contact.)

It didn't seem like she was asking me to pet her and make her feel good. It felt like she was concerned about me and was trying to comfort me.

My husband was out of town and I was home with my two girls, Sophie was 4 years old and Gaby was 2. We had just finished eating dinner , I put on a movie for them and I was doing the dishes. We had a golden retriever named Belle. Very sweet. Thought she was one of the kids. I get a phone call from a girl friend asking me about them and I explained they were on the couch watching tv while I did dishes. Our house is split level so I look down into the tv room and don’t see Gaby. I never heard a door open and close. She was a fan of hiding so I started to look for her. I ask Sophie where she was. She said she didn’t know. I go outside to look at the pool and the pool gate is closed. I go upstairs, downstairs, look in closets, toy boxes, can’t find her. Now I’m in a panic. Ask Sophie again, no clue. I go outside again, this time the pool door is open. I run to the pool, Gaby is on second step up the her chest and Belle is swimming in front of her so close that she was petting her but ensuring she doesn’t go down any further. Gaby is talking in her baby voice to Belle. I see her in the pool, freak out and bring her inside. I to this day believe that Belle saved her life. Watching that dog changing direction in front of her to make sure she didn’t/couldn’t get down to the third step saved her life. I can still see it like it was yesterday! She was a great dog. So sweet and kind yet a fierce watchdog! I miss her

Wilbur was an exceptionally smart Black Lab who found his way into my life in 1994. After Will destroyed a sofa and the linoleum in the bathroom of my townhouse, I bought him a three bedroom home with a fenced in back yard…on a salary as a public school teacher.

Money well spent. In October of 1995, I was driving home from a weekend stay at my parents’ home, a three hour drive from my place. I left too late: by 9:00, I was tired and still had two hours to go to get home. So I stopped at a closed gas station to get a Coke from the machine, to have little caffeine to revive.

I hadn’t noticed if anyone was following me, bur as soon as I parked, a car pulled in behind me, pulling up until he touched the back bumper of my Taurus station wagon. I was in the worst possible position: halfway between the car and the machine. A man got out of the car,

Now, in all fairness, the guy may have been asking for directions. I think not, but we never had a chance to find out, because the Hound from Hell suddenly arose from the back of the wagon. This dog, who had spent the weekend with my two nephews puling at him, trying to ride him, with never so much as a growl, emerged as The Hound of the Baskervilles, with a deep throat-ed yell that sounded like it came from the depths of Hell. What was with those teeth? They never looked four inches long before. Then he threw himself against the back glass, determined to break through.

I honestly never thought about myself at that moment. I only thought, “He’ll kill himself!” as I rushed to the door to let him out.

Apparently, the noise and the possibility of being mauled by a wild wolf posing as a dog was enough to make the man decide all this wasn’t worth the trouble. He got back in his car, flashed the high beams, I guess to blind me for a moment, and took off.

I gave Wilbur seven years of Kibble, a secure home, and as much love as I could before he died of cancer. he gave me my life. In no way a fair trade. RIP, my best dog!!!

When I deployed to Iraq with the Department of Justice I left my wife and youngest son to take care of the home front. I also left my dog, an adult male Shar Pei with them.

Every night before retiring my wife would travel through the house, making sure the doors and windows were secure. Archie would faithfully follow her until she reached our bedroom. He would wait until Theresa got into bed, then turn around and plop himself right in the bedroom doorway with his nose sticking into the den. He did this every night for the year I was gone.

The first night when I got home Archie looked at me, and figured out that “daddy” was home. He never stood guard for her again.

Archie was, by far, the smartest, most gentle animal I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. We all miss him terribly.

Several years ago, my husband and I miscarried a child for the first time. We had a full household with two large dogs and two tabbies, yet we knew our household needed a child. After the miscarriage, we walked around in stunned shock. Barely communicating, weeping at the slightest provocation, with our cats and dogs equally distressed over our sorrow.

Each showed a kindness in his or her own way. My big tabby curled into my tummy every night (before that he slept behind my knees). His sister sat at my left shoulder on the back of my sofa and regularly patted my shoulder during the first few weeks of sorrow. Our Yellow Labrador whimpered and slept with his head on my husband's feet, but my big black German Shepherd underwent an almost complete personality change in the months after the miscarriage.
We adopted him into our household as a nine-month old pup when he couldn't acclimate to the households that had him previously. In the eight years that we had him he was still the defiant pup, destructive, loud, boisterous, and at times very aggressive toward strangers. We put off having a child partly because of him, and our parents also worried about how he might behave around a baby.

After the miscarriage, during our year of sorrow, when all of our animals rallied around us emotionally, my Shepherd softened. He allowed us to touch his muzzle, fondle his ears, handle his feet, and nuzzle him everywhere without a murmur of discontent. He began to heel when we walked, and he listened to the commands we spent years trying to teach. During that time he and I were walking at a park and a young mother and her toddler approached us. "He really wants to pet your dog, are we allowed?" I hesitated because my dog was only recently predictable. My dog looked up at me, glanced at the baby, turned around so that he faced away from the baby, and he laid down. Then he scooted backward until his tail was within reach of the baby and he flicked his tail toward the baby. He sat there with a big doggy grin on his face while the baby patted his tail and haunches.

The dog that greeted our baby when we had her a couple years later was not the dog that would have greeted her prior to witnessing our sorrow.

My handsome J.

His bunny pic shows how much he softened :)

This is my sweet Abel. When I got him I was in a very toxic and confusing relationship but wasn’t aware of it at the time. My unstable relationship led me to some very dark and unstable moments. I remember one day I had a panic attack and was too fragile to literally do anything that day. I curled up on my couch like a little girl crying my heart out. Too sad to move I laid there for hours. The entire time, Abel laid on my upper back and didn’t get up until I finally did.

Abel has been my mini shadow ever since. He lays wherever I sit/rest and whenever I get up or walk to another room, no matter how comfortable he is; he gets up and follows me. I am blessed.

Willy is my service dog. I would not be alive without him.

It’s hard to pick just one thing. My dog, Rio, has literally saved my life, defended me against the unknown, and comforted me in my worst heartbreak.

in 2012 I performed CPR on a man at work (I’m not medical) for 15 minutes. He didn’t make it. I was almost catatonic. As I lay on the couch, Rio stood with his head resting on my shoulder for what seemed like hours.

more recently, in a therapy session when I was teetering in panic, he struggled to his 12yr old arthritic feet and came over to me, tail wagging and happily “huffing” his cheeks to assure me “I got you”.

My older brother has been going through a tough time lately.

He came over to my mom's, where I was staying for the weekend. We have a puppy at my mom’s. Prince.

Prince barks at the gardeners, the neighbors, and even small children that he does not know (yes, we're ashamed of that).

Even though my brother doesn't spend as much time at my mom's as I do, Prince is pretty acquainted with him. Not close or anything. Maybe greets him at the door when he first arrives. Or lays in front of him for a tummy rub… although I won't doubt that he would roll over for a tummy rub if a burglar offered.

Anyways, they're cool. But not like, close.

So my mom and brother are talking in a separate room, seated on the couch. My brother is managing to speak over tears. And Prince walks in. He jumps onto the couch and sits in my brother's lap. And he starts to lick his face.

I think it's so cool that dogs can not only sense emotions, but have the urge to comfort people.

Or maybe he just liked licking the tears.

Dogs also like salty things.

Here's Princey! Little love bug. But not to strangers.

Beware.

I used to have a dog named Fang. (Yeah, the same name with Hagid’s dog in Harry Potter )

One day he was lying beside me, I asked him if you love me.

Because I always ask him this question, and he would always rub himself against my leg or lick my face.

This time he got up and left. I thought he was tired of being asked and didn't want to pay attention to me.

As a result, he went to get his favorite ball and put it gently in my hand.

I wept with tears with joy.

Now it's been a long time since he left me.

I will be always, always missing him.

Looking forward to the day we meet each other again.