When something goes wrong with a family pet's health, members of the family will also suffer -- not just emotionally, but physically, too.

Three weeks ago I got an email from my friend Geoff in Chicago. His note was sad. Very sad. For a while, I stared at my monitor screen but didn't know what to write. I was groping for words to say to my friend.

Geoff's note started with: "Tel, this is to let you know that our beloved cat, Shanty, had been put to sleep after battling cancer. Last month, if you remember, she was still hanging in there, generally having one poor day for every two or three good ones. Emily and I knew it was a matter of time, nevertheless, we tried to enjoy the time together. Unfortunately, all the specialists we took her to had no treatments that could save her, given the type and location of her cancer which was centred on the left side of her head. We have kept her comfortable and loved since, but as things progressed, she went from hurting to being in pain nearly all the time, eating poorly to not eating at all the last few days, and being too weak to move, except on wobbly legs."

As my friend's sentiment poured, so did the sympathy I felt for him and his wife Emily. I was certain that whatever grief I felt could not have matched what they were experiencing.

Shanty came to Geoff and his family 17 years ago this month and while she died age 18, their vet swore she was no older than 12. Originally, she was the cat of Geoff's son (come to think of it, Geoff used to be allergic to cats) but over time Geoff and Shanty bonded. This is how she ended up being Geoff's cat. Well, his, as much as a cat will allow.

When she was young, Shanty was dark blue-grey, but alas, we all grey up over time, don't we? Actually she was a Russian Blue, with faint rings on her tail. Her pink inner ears were always a standout. Her eyes were once a vivid yellow, but after 17 years, became lemon coloured in tone.

She would meet Geoff at the door when he came home (except for the last few years, when she developed arthritis and walking became a bit painful) and meow a quiet “hello.” She was the only cat my friend ever knew that would bite him while purring, and would keep purring afterwards.

To my friend, Shanty was never an ordinary cat (at least tolerating or liking Mozart, for starters), intelligent, clever and possessing a great sense of humour. She was also loyal, happy and steadfast. Geoff even thinks he has some friends for whom he can't claim all those attributes.

All those past 5 years, my friend used to write about Shanty with much pride - that she was a 'quality editor' for his writings as well as a 'fine-music lover.' One of Geoff's favourite views of her was when she was in her chair nearby, keeping an eye on things from her chair, for all the hours he was at his computer working or appreciating Mozart's concertos and symphonies, and occasionally tapping him with her paw when my friend ignored her too long.

Eventually, with her illness, she ended up seldom leaving the chair, until the last couple of weeks when she wasn't strong enough to get back into it once getting out.

Grief perhaps becomes more intolerable, with Geoff's son out on his own and married, with Emily and him between kids and grandkids, making it more painful to lose a 17-year long friendship.

Shanty's illness became evident one day in late April. Early in the month, I have wondered why Geoff has left my emails unanswered.. We have lots of common interests and often share our research. One unexpected morning, his email came: “Tel, very sorry to give you a late reply on things, but it's been a rough two weeks. Our cat, Shanty, went in to the vet for a broken tooth and abscess, which turned out to be bone cancer in her jaw. We've been getting her tested and checked out, but all hopes went with the final reports and check-up by a noted veterinarian surgeon. It's inoperable and untreatable. So, we have from four weeks up to six months left. We would have paid a lot to save her and jumped through several hoops to do so, but in the end, we can only keep her comfortable.”

Last month, the swelling got worse, entering the left side of her head which got about a third bigger.

Three weeks ago she died.

I got Geoff's response to my email of condolence. He wrote: "Dear Tel, thanks for your kind notes and wishes. Yes, the anguish has faded, but it's been replaced with a void. I still half expect Shanty at the door when we come in, in the bathroom each morning, on the bed with me, helping to pay bills on a Monday night, or in the chair behind me helping to edit. Last Monday, Emily went out to a meeting of a social group she belongs to, and I paid the bills. Suddenly it occurred to me - I was alone in the house without anyone else there, for the first time since 1987. Not that I sought out the cat to stave off loneliness or to pursue inspired repartee (though I always talked with her, she was always so agreeable to a face), but just that I was completely alone for the first time in 17 years."

Immediately, I wrote back: "I know you're still grieving and missing faithful and loyal Shanty. But for your sake Geoff, I'm hoping really hard that another one in her likeness will purr at your door one day."

A week ago my friend responded: "We could hope to be so blessed twice, but I don't want to plan on it. We'll get another cat, but our Pretty Girl left big shoes to fill, - or is that paw prints? - and I'd rather not get into deflating comparisons. She was an exceptional cat; one can hope but can't plan on such a gift a second time. And Tel, thanks again for your nice notes. Are you coping with Sydney's winter? I know you freeze a lot."

I wrote to Geoff twice. Once again, my emails were left unanswered.

Yesterday, my friend's email came, a welcome respite: "Tel, I’m sorry for having remained very quiet these past days, but your friend needed more time."

Pensive, I paused from reading. It's obvious. Geoff my friend is still hurting.

Then I continued reading my friend's email, holding on to his poignant memories of Shanty: "We made her as comfortable and happy as we could, under the circumstances, and her passing, despite being foretold, is a sad and crippling event. I will get back into the swing of things shortly, if only to fill the void left by our loss."