TOBY
2015 - 2025
REMEMBERING TOBY by his mom, Jan T. aka Honolulu Lulu 4th October 2025 (With loving assistance from Beth Haslam)
We got our little boy 10 years ago. I’d gotten off work early that day, and decided to stop by our local Best Friends Pet Adoption Center in the Sugar House area of Salt Lake City, Utah, to drop off a donation and see if they needed any help for a couple of hours. When I arrived, I decided to walk through the cages and look at the little animals who were waiting for forever homes. We had just lost a beloved pet a few weeks earlier, our second pet loss that year, and I was still pretty heartbroken and unsure whether I was emotionally prepared to rescue another one yet.
As I was walking through the cage display, I suddenly felt something pull at my sleeve, and looked down to see an adorable all black Siamese kitten and his identical sister inside the cage. They were listed as being 12 weeks old, but to me they looked to be about 9 weeks old. This little guy was insistent that I pay attention to him and his sister, who was huddled up in the corner. I could see that she had some kind of eye infection. They were adorable, and frankly irresistible!
I had one of the employees put the three of us together in a room so they could get out of their cage and I could watch their interactions and see how they would be with me. They were so glad to be free, playful, mischievous, and interactive with me. I immediately called my husband to see how he felt about my bringing them home. He was fine. Even though we still had 2 adult cats at home, we had a special cozy room with a kitty condo and comfy bed for them, as well as food, water and a litter box. I paid the adoption fee, got instructions on how to deal with the female’s eye infection, and home we went. They both chatted to me all the way.
They both absolutely loved their new home. I decided not to introduce them to the adult cats until they’d had a chance to acclimate and I could medicate the little girl’s eyes, and they could feel safe in their new surroundings. We named them Toby and Tasha. The only difference between them is that Toby was a shorthair and Tasha was a longhair; otherwise, they were identical.
I spent time with them that afternoon, watching them race up and down their condo, scratch in their litter box, eat, drink, then finally fall asleep in their new bed. When hubby got home from work, we each took turns holding them, getting them used to us, bonding, then we exchanged kittens after about 15 minutes so neither of them would get more attached to one of us than the other.
They clearly didn’t love being locked into that room, however, because they knew there was stuff going on in the rest of the house, including two very curious adult cats, and they loudly demanded to be let out. That was a bit tricky but it all worked out, and the babies (we nicknamed them “the Sandinistas” because they were so naughty) grew and thrived. They were curious, interactive, sweet, and joyful. And we adored them.
All of our cats are indoor cats. In fact, I signed a contract with Best Friends that we would never let these little guys outside. There are so many dangers lurking outside in our neighborhood for cats… so many neighborhood dogs and other predators, plus a large park next to our backyard. We’ve rescued many cats and that’s just the way it has to be, as it’s our only way of protecting them.
When we rescued our Avery, an 8-month Border Collie/Australian Shepherd mix, the following year from a dreadful situation and likely death, we had no idea how in the world it was going to work out. But we have a large home with a beautiful fenced-in yard. And we knew that somehow it would be okay.
All of our animals are rescues and we’ve found that they instinctively know they’ve been saved; they develop a grace that allows for acceptance of other rescued animals. That became the case with our menagerie after some initial hissing, growling, and establishment of turf. And Avery is a very gentle, kind-hearted dog, despite being a herder, and she quickly learned that our cats didn’t appreciate or need to be herded! Avery also tried to herd us, it’s her nature!
Our little Siamese kittens grew quickly and quickly adapted to their new home. They were into everything, climbing every surface they could find and jumping into our arms whenever the chance arose.
Toby especially developed an obsession with running water and at some point, began following me into the bathroom whenever I brushed my teeth, where he’d sit on the counter and chatter away to me as I brushed and flossed. He had many stories to tell me.
In the afternoons, especially after I retired from work a few years later due to health challenges, whenever I got on the couch in the afternoons, he’d jump up and plop himself down on top of the blanket I used. With my husband, whenever he’d walk past Toby, Toby would climb on his shoulder and cling to him as a baby does. It was so fun to watch them interact. This went on for Toby’s entire life. Anytime I came home from a medical procedure and climbed into my bed to sleep off the medication, Toby would jump up and lie across my legs to make sure I didn’t go anywhere. It became our most special time.
What I especially remember is the year 2019. It started when my mom died in early January, not unexpectedly but so hard for me. Our little animals, especially Toby, formed a protective barrier between me and the rest of the world. As the year progressed, I began to develop very worrisome symptoms of something being dreadfully wrong. When I finally had tangible proof, I contacted my doctor and had an immediate mammogram which revealed something scary looking. I was sent to Huntsman Cancer Hospital the following day and we received a diagnosis of breast cancer. Early stage, but the most lethal, fast-growing kind. The kind that on Sunday you’re fine, by Monday you have it, and by Friday it will be fatal, is the way my oncologist explained it to us.
Chemo treatments began immediately, followed by surgery several months later, followed by more chemo treatments and surgery. Two weeks after surgery, the world got hit with the Covid pandemic, and everything closed down. I still had to get my chemo treatments, but wasn’t allowed to have anyone accompany me. Everyone wore masks, everyone was terrified of getting infected, and there wasn’t a cure.
The next week our area got hit by a massive earthquake, which was absolutely frightful for our little animals. And just after that, on April 1st (April Fool’s Day in the USA), I was scheduled to start 45 days of radiation treatments while still undergoing chemo treatments. And early that morning, we got hit with another aftershock. At that point I decided that no way am I going to start radiation today, no way! Then my little Toby, my protector and warrior, jumped up on my shoulder and cat-wrapped me in his paws and just held me. It was as if he was telling me, “C’mon Mom, you can do this, you must do this, we need you to live and be our mom!” And with that, I did indeed find the courage to leave the house and begin my radiation treatments.
Toby was always an inspiration to both me and my husband. I did recover completely from cancer, though I’m still dealing with the awful after-effects of chemo treatments. And my Toby was always waiting for me at home.
Our little guy was always healthy and had absolutely no health issues. He had a sweet, docile personality, and even allowed my husband to trim his nails whenever needed without ever causing a fuss. He was so good natured that you could do just about anything to him and he went along with it. He was a joy always.
Last week he suddenly became ill, frantically trying to get more water, crying for it, trying but unable to use the litterbox to the point that he started urinating on the floor right in front of us, a clear sign that he needed help.
We contacted our vet and arranged for him to be seen in the clinic the next day. He’d lost several pounds during the summer after his last vet exam and the vet was worried enough that she had me leave him so that she could run some labs on him and get him hydrated. It was hard to leave him, but necessary. The vet asked me to return in a couple of hours.
When I returned, she expressed great worry about Toby’s kidney function and while the x-ray didn’t show tumors, it did show that his kidneys were abnormally small and there was a very suspicious lymph node in his intestinal tract. She asked me to immediately take him over to a 24-hr specialty vet facility, MedVet, which has the most up-to-date equipment and facilities to keep him overnight until they could determine what, if anything, could be done to help him. It was one of the hardest journeys of my life. Toby has never been away from us before, and he’s never been away from little Tasha. But MedVet assured me they’d take good care of him and that they would love him and see that he was as comfortable as possible. With a heavy heart, I left him in their care and made the worrisome drive home. I knew in my heart that this may not end well, but I was equally sure that the team of specialized vets and nursing staff would give him everything they had.
The vet checked with us frequently, and the nurses took pictures and messaged us so that we could see how he was doing. Even as sick as he was, our little Toby was kind, cooperative, and loving to them, plus he chattered away to them.
The vet called us twice daily to let us know how things were looking. She said that everybody on the staff loved him to pieces. After two days, things were still looking bleak. We hadn’t been over to see him yet, afraid that the stress of seeing us and having us leave him would make things worse for him. But on Thursday morning, his third day of in-house care, the vet called me and said she thought it would be a good idea for me to come over and visit him.
When I got there, they put me into a private room and brought him to me. He was so happy to see me, but so stressed and desperate to escape, my heart broke for him. I finally got him to settle down in my arms and he buried his head under my elbow and purred his little heart out. By now I was convinced that he was suffering and in pain, and that we would likely need to make a decision the next morning. I talked to the vet and told her my observations. She asked me to leave him for one more night and see if she could get him to rally, to which I agreed. In retrospect, I wish I had asked her to end his suffering right then.
The next day, which coincidentally was my birthday, she called and said that his kidneys were still not functioning and that he likely wouldn’t improve no matter what they did, and that it was time for us to make a decision. We immediately drove over to MedVet and told the vet we want his suffering to end. It’s the promise we make to all of our rescue animals… we’ll love and care for them always, and when it’s time to let them go, we’ll do that and not allow them to suffer. My husband held him in his arms and I held both of them, we both hugged and kissed him and told him to wait for us at the Rainbow Bridge, that we’ll come and get him. Then it was over.
Our Toby was a heroic, brave, kind, and loving little guy always. And trying to explain to the rest of our menagerie why there’s one missing has been awful, they’re all stressed and nervous. And we are grieving hard… that will continue for a while. But we’re certain, as are the vets at MedVet and our own vet, that everything possible had been done and it was time to let him go.
There is a huge hole in our lives, in our hearts, and in our home. Whenever I brush my teeth, I look for him. I caught myself walking through the house the other day calling, “Toby, Toby, where are you?” And then I remember.
The things I will miss the most: Toby helping me brush my teeth morning and night, sitting on the bathroom counter and chatting with me, telling me stories. How he always greeted me coming home from my medical procedures, sprawling across my legs when I get into bed to make sure I don’t go anywhere until the meds have worn off. How he’d immediately jump on a pile of just out of the dryer clean clothes to bury his face, then help me fold. How he’d always leap onto the kitchen counter when he knew I’d put down a clean dish mat and he’d stretch out across it. The way he’d always reach out and smack my arm if I didn’t stroke him as I walked by as he sat on top of the half wall. How he’d listen intently whenever I started singing. How much he loved it when I gently rubbed his snout. Waking up in the mornings by him climbing on my chest and staring down into my face, his version of saying, “Mom, are you going to get up now?” The way he’d jump up on our bed at night to check on us and make sure we were all settled in. The way we always napped together in the afternoons; I always covered myself with his favorite blanket and he’d snuggle down and purr and purr until we both dozed off. How he loved climbing into Gene’s arms, snuggling and stretching his paws over Gene’s shoulder and hugging him as a baby would do. And the look of pure contentment when he did.
I will miss the way he’d stare up into our dog’s face and lick her nose. His kindness towards Milo even when Milo tormented him. The way he’d sometimes lick Mitzie’s nose, even as they sometimes sparred. The way he supervised Gene every night while Gene cleaned their water bowls and water fountain, and refilled them with fresh, purified water.
I will miss his constant loving nature and how he tolerated Tasha, his sister, from whom he’d never been separated before last week. Watching them curl up together whenever Tasha needed extra affection. Getting up in the mornings to find a trail of garbage he left when he dumpster-dived in the garbage can that’s underneath my desk in my office; he absolutely loved to nose around and see what was in it. He particularly enjoyed the various receipts and anything plastic he could find, and dragged them out to show to me. His absolute enjoyment of Christmas morning, opening his presents and playing with everybody else’s new toys. These are just a few of the things I’ll miss. Everything about this amazing little guy is imprinted on my heart and I’ll never forget him.
As I pulled out of our driveway to take Avery to the groomer yesterday morning, I saw a stunning triple rainbow, a message from my Toby saying, “Mom, I’m fine. I’m at the Bridge and will wait for you… I love you and everything is okay.” It’s the first peace I’ve felt in a week.
I know where he is now… he’s safe, out of pain, and playing with the others at the Rainbow Bridge. And he’ll watch for us when we come to take him to Heaven with us.
Will we rescue again? More than likely, once we work through our grief. I fervently believe that rescuing another needy animal is the best way to honor our little Toby. We’ll also continue to support the various rescue facilities where we live, and we’ll help out however we can to save and protect vulnerable little animals. I pray that others will do the same. Toby, we love you forever and I will come and get you when it’s my time. We are so grateful we got to be your parents. You are forever in our hearts.
