Taurus Full Moon November 2

Cats.
Thirty years ago, my cat Myrrh said to me, “I’m gonna die, you know.” I said, “I’ll take you to the vet Monday.” (It was then the Friday evening of Labor Day weekend.) An hour later she came out onto the porch where I was eating supper, said, “See you around,” and disappeared. She didn’t come home. I found her Monday morning in her favorite spot in the back yard, and buried her there.
Ten years ago, my cat Tattoo had been dying for about six weeks, of old age. I kept her as comfy as possible, and we communed daily, our connection growing more intense as she neared death. Two nights before Halloween, I told her, “I’m going to dinner and then to a dance concert with Annelise.” “Oh,” she protested, “you can’t leave tonight! I’m gonna die tonight!” As soon as I recovered, I said, “Well, I can get out of the concert, but I need to go to dinner. Will you be OK until about 8:30?” She said she would. I got home on time, and about two hours later she started the death rattle, and I picked her up and held her and thanked her as she died in my arms.
The next morning one of my best friends, Andrea, came by to visit us, because she knew I’d be devastated. She brought her dog, Casey. Casey looked around for Tattoo, and when she spotted her curled on the cushion next to me, looked to Andrea for permission to approach Tattoo. “So long as she won’t maul the corpse,” I said. Casey walked up to Tattoo and I felt her recognize it. What I heard Casey say was “Dead.” What Andrea heard was “Oh, no.” But then we both heard, “You’ve lost your kitty!” and Casey jumped up and licked my face all over in an enormous outpouring of sympathy. It was just what I needed at that moment, to know that I could share with another animal the same kind of communication I’d shared with Tattoo.
Exactly one year ago I took my cat Pepper to the vet and said, “You’ll think I’m nuts, but she’s contemplating her mortality.” I suspect he did, because she looked healthy enough to anyone who wasn’t used to what a fat cat she usually is, but he gave me some appetite stimulants and said that if she wasn’t eating by the next day I should bring her back. When I took her back the next day he was shocked at how bad she looked. He hospitalized her and they gave her IV drips until she’d eat again, but he no longer thought I was nuts.
I am quite persuaded that animals know more about and understand death better than humans do.

I have to include myself along with the animal lovers, and adjust the wording in my post. I would say it's more that humans may be the only animals that fear death. The day my old dog died ten years ago she told me very clearly that the time had come. She spent much of the day looking out the window into the yard, perhaps remembering all of the good times we have had. My cat Katie was the toughest cat ever, and at 18-1/2 she finally told me the time had come. I think she was grateful that I could call the vet to give her a peaceful exit.