Potus has completed his final term in office.

Today would have been Potus' 13th birthday. Sadly he passed a month ago. Not only was he a super brave cat, but he also generated so much income for my business and essentially became a business partner, with many clients asking more about Potus' wellbeing than their own tax returns.

When I lost Potus, I didn’t just lose an animal - I lost my little shadow, my co-pilot, my living, breathing serotonin dispenser. You know, the one who knew exactly when I needed - which usually meant that he wanted a cuddle.

It’s strange how quiet a house can feel when those familiar paws aren’t padding around. No more miaows, no more morning snuffles, no more judgmental stares when I dared to eat without sharing (and believe me, even a cat without eyes can stare intensely). Grief hit me like a wave - not a neat, cinematic single tear down the cheek, but the full, messy, ugly cry kind of grief. The “why does everything remind me of them?” kind.

And yet, somewhere in that sadness, something unexpected started to grow: motivation.

At first, I wanted to do nothing. I wanted to curl up in bed with his favourite toy. But as days passed, I realised that doing nothing only made the grief louder.

I started thinking about how much joy and energy he brought into my life - how he always lived completely in the moment. He didn’t care about to-do lists or inboxes or whether the MTD would impact his client base. He just was. Joyfully, unapologetically alive.

So I made a deal with myself: if they could live every day like it was the best day ever (even if it was literally just a Tuesday with the same kibble as yesterday), then so could I.

What I didn’t realise at first was that grief doesn’t disappear - it just changes shape. It softens around the edges. One day, you notice the memories start making you smile instead of cry. You still miss them, of course, but now that love you shared fuels you instead of breaks you.

Writing this blog makes me realise I have become one of those insufferable people on LinkedIn who use their trauma to explain what they have learnt about B2B sales, but this past few weeks have taught me

• You can’t rush grief, but you can walk alongside it.

• Love doesn’t end - it just finds new places to live inside you.

• The best way to honour what you’ve lost is to live with the same joy your pet did every single day.

  
  

If you’re grieving a pet right now, I get it. It’s tough. But one day, that ache in your heart might start to feel like a heartbeat again - a reminder that love never really leaves; it just changes form.

And if Potus taught me anything, it’s that every walk, every nap in a sunbeam, and every wag of the tail (or swish of the whiskers) is worth celebrating - even the ones that come after goodbye.