Tylan to the Rescue: My Cat Saved Me from a Deadly Eating Disorder

Carmine was my heart cat and best friend.

"I love you, Carmine," I told my handsome, 18-year-old orange tabby cat as the vet gave him the  injection that stopped his heart, sending him to the Rainbow Bridge. Carmine left me in the wee hours of May 26, 2023. It's the day my world began to implode. 

Carmine was my soulmate, my heart cat. We spent 18 wonderful years together. His unconditional love, guidance, and comforting nature helped me recover from anorexia and self-harm. His love healed me in ways I didn't know were possible. How was I supposed to go on without him? We were two peas in a pod. As long as I had Carmine by my side, I knew everything would be okay, even in seemingly hopeless situations. How was I supposed to navigate this world without my best friend?4\

After his death, I went on with my life the best I could. I adopted a new kitten, and while Giovanni brought me and Tylan (my Siamese cat) so much joy, laughter, and comfort, I simply couldn't handle the grief I felt over Carine's loss. Instead of working through it, I shoved the grief aside. Nobody, especially my loved ones, wanted to see me sad and grieving. It was easier for everyone if I pretended Carmine's death wasn't as devastating to me as it actually was.

After Carmine's death, I felt incredibly isolated. I am legally blind and cannot drive. I don't have many local friends. When Carmine was alive, the fact that I spent all of my time at home didn't bother me because Carmine eased my loneliness and gave my life purpose. When he died, feelings of isolation and loneliness hit me like a ton of bricks; it was overwhelming. 

Tylan was a beautiful seal-point Siamese.

Fast forward to July 23, 2024. My mother unexpectedly passed away from septic shock. While we were estranged for nearly 20 years, now I had to face the fact that we would never be able to reconcile within this lifetime. 

Once again, I felt I couldn't grieve. It seemed like everyone expected me not to be affected by my mother's death because we had been estranged for so long. 

My feelings of grief and isolation were too overwhelming for me, and, as a result, I began to restrict my food intake. Initially, I just restricted a little, but my anorexia quickly took over—something I thought I'd left in my past.

Tylan loved using this scratching post, sunbathing in his favorite window, and spending time with me.

I began to consume a miniscule number of calories and dropped a third of my body weight in approximately five months. Though my anorexia wanted me to lose more weight, I knew I couldn't go too far—Tylan had several medical conditions, and he needed me to stay alive to take care of him.

This past January, things took a turn for the worst for Tylan. I could tell Tylan wasn't feeling well. My social, happy boy was hiding, unhappy, uninterested in eating, and walking around yowling mournfully. Fortunately, our vet clinic was able to see us right away. 

Upon my request, the vet drew Tylan's blood for some in-house lab work. The results were astonishing. Tylan's creatinine had gone from 3.8 to 12 in a matter of two weeks! I rushed my precious boy to the hospital where the veterinarian who greeted us confided that he didn't know if he could save Tylan's life.

I visited Tylan every day he was in the hospital this past January.

Over the next five days, Tylan's creatinine steadily decreased. I visited him daily. I'd hold him and talk to him as the IV fluids continuously dripped into his frail body. Every day I told him how much I loved him and how he was going to get better so that he could come home to be with me and Giovanni again. 

One night, as I rode home from visiting Tylan, I decided it was time to stop losing weight. I had reached my lowest adult weight to date, and if I kept going, chances were I wouldn't survive. 

By the time Tylan was well enough to be discharged from the hospital, he'd stolen everyone's hearts who had cared for him, just the way he had mine six years prior when I saw his photo on an adoption site. You couldn't help but to fall in love with the handsome, chatty, and sweet Siamese that he was.

When Tylan was discharged from the hospital, he'd gone into stage 4 chronic kidney disease, and I knew his time with me was limited. From that point on, Tylan required numerous medications, daily subcutaneous fluids, acupuncture every two weeks (to help with his osteoarthritis pain), and close monitoring. He needed me in ways that Giovanni didn't. I knew nobody would have taken over Tylan's care if I let my anorexia kill me. 

All of the veterinary staff at Tylan's regular vet clinic and emergency hospital adored him.

Over the next few months, our bond deepened. Tylan enjoyed curling up in my lap for hours at a time and sleeping with me at night—two things he'd never enjoyed prior to his hospitalization. 

In therapy, I realized that one of the contributing factors to my eating disorder is that I've never felt like I was good enough. I've felt unworthy of love and care for as long as I can remember. Tylan showed me every day that I am worthy of being loved, not because of anything I have or haven't done, but because I am me. Tylan chose to be with me. He sought comfort in me when he didn't feel well. He trusted me to take care of him and to make the best decisions for him. He loved me because I was his human. 

Tylan and I spent the next few months enjoying the time we had left together. I began to restrict my food intake to a lesser degree and began seeing a dietitian. I also started attending virtual support groups in addition to working with my therapist. 

Tylan enjoyed supervising me from his small cat tree while I tended to chores around the house.

In May, I noticed that Tylan felt horrible again. His labs confirmed it—his creatinine had shot up once again. It was time to say good-bye to my precious boy. His veterinarian and I had exhausted all treatment options for him. 

On May 13, 2025, a veterinarian came to our home to help Tylan go to the Rainbow Bridge. I know he's at peace now, no longer sick or in pain. He's with his dear friend, Carmine, again. I know they're both watching over me, Giovanni, and Gabriel (the newest addition to our family). 

Though I may not be ready to jump into recovery full-force, I promised Tylan I wouldn't go backward. I have put a little of the weight I lost back on and continue to work toward more recovery every day. 

On most days, I still believe that I'm not good enough, not worthy of love and care. On those days, I remind myself that Tylan thought I was worthy of being loved just for being me. 

Tylan gave me an incredible gift—his unconditional love. I owe it to him to keep moving forward.

Tylan

October, 2015–May 13, 2025

Forever Loved.