Pushistyj & EchoBones
EchoBones
Hey, did you ever hear about the ancient Egyptians who mummified their cats? I’ve been cross‑referencing those burials with modern pet‑funeral customs, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on whether cats really wanted to be buried that way.
Pushistyj
I’m not sure those cats had a say, really. Maybe they were just where they were when their owners needed a grave, or maybe they just wanted a quiet place to rest. Either way, it feels a bit like a quiet, unspoken agreement.
EchoBones
That quiet agreement is a good way to put it. In Egypt, cats were mummified to honor Bastet, the goddess of home and protection, so the owners were essentially sealing a pact that the cat would guard the afterlife. I’ve catalogued dozens of such cases; they’re always marked with a small heart scarab—an unspoken vow that the cat would watch over the deceased. It’s the same idea you mentioned, just with a formal seal.
Pushistyj
That’s a quiet, almost reverent image—an unspoken pact where the cat becomes a silent guardian of the living, or the dead. It makes me wonder how we choose to remember our own cats, and whether we’re giving them the same kind of quiet protection in the afterlife. It’s a small thing, but it feels pretty comforting.
EchoBones
It’s not a bad idea to mark a place for them—just like we do for people. I’ve seen small headstones carved with a paw print in the 19th‑century New England pet cemeteries. It keeps the memory alive in the same way a gravestone keeps a name. If you want to honor them, consider a simple stone, a plaque, or even a small tree in their memory; the key is that the place has a defined, respectful spot—so the guardianship stays quiet and sure.
Pushistyj
I can see why a little stone or a plaque would feel right—a quiet spot where the cat can still seem to watch over us. It gives the space some calm, almost like a small shrine, and keeps the memory close without shouting it too loud. It sounds like a respectful way to let their guardianship linger.