The Mountain, the Memory, and the Pawprint

Reflections from my Manitou Incline climb for Nomar—2,768 steps of love, grief, and healing.

Hey Golden Whiskers Family,

Yesterday morning—Saturday, August 23rd—I strapped on my rucksack, turned on my headlamp, and began my climb.

4:27 AM.
The first step (in honor of Nomar’s birthday - April 27th)
5:33 AM.
I reached the summit.
2,768 brutal, beautiful stairs.
23 pounds on my back.
1.2 miles up.
All for one name that still echoes in my chest: Nomar.

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🐾 Six Years Later, I Still Carry Him

On August 23rd, 2019, Nomar passed away.

I didn't know then that grief could live so long inside you.
I also didn't know how much love could grow after someone leaves.

So this year, I wanted to do something different. Something physical. Something ritualistic. Something that mirrored the pain, the love, and the strength required to carry that kind of bond.

And that's why I chose the Manitou Incline.

It’s one of the hardest climbs in the country—literally straight up the side of a mountain. It’s unforgiving, relentless, and stunning. Just like grief. And just like love.

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💬 What I Told Myself With Every Step

As I climbed in the dark, all I could hear was my own breath—and one sentence over and over in my mind:

“This is for you, Nomar.”

I thought about his final day.
I thought about how I still talk to him and Mia, and tell them I miss them.
And I thought about the messages many of you sent this past week—sharing stories of your own beloved pets, living and gone.

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📸 Lori Sent Me This Picture Mid-Climb

My best friend Lori texted me this picture of Nomar while I was climbing—and I honestly stopped in my tracks and teared up.

Seeing his face reminded me: this isn’t just my journey. It’s ours.

Your messages.
Your memories.
Your support.
Your love for your own animals—from Cindy (who lived on three continents) to Apple (who saved his guardian from an abusive relationship) to Steve-o and Max and Charlotte and Shelby.

All of you were there with me on the trail.

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🎙️ This Ties Back to Friday’s Podcast

If you missed it, Friday’s solo episode was my most personal yet.

I opened up about the guilt I still carry over Nomar’s death. The things I wish I’d done differently. And how our grief becomes a mirror—showing us not only what we’ve lost, but who we’ve become in the aftermath.

Saturday’s climb was a follow-up to that episode, in a way. It was the body version of that heartache. And the healing.

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🌄 What the Incline Taught Me

Here’s what I realized on the trail:

• Grief is sacred. We often try to rush past it or hide it—but grief is a testament to love. It deserves ritual, expression, and breath.

• We grow into better caregivers. Many of us carry guilt for what we didn’t know when our first pets were sick. But that guilt often transforms into wisdom that helps the next cat, the next dog, the next chapter.

• Love leaves a pawprint. That’s not a metaphor. It’s real. I feel it on my chest. Still. Every day.

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📘 Recommendation for Cat Parents

Find a way to mark your pet’s memory.

Maybe it’s a hike.
Maybe it’s a journal entry.
Maybe it’s printing out a photo and putting it somewhere special.
Or simply saying their name out loud today.

These rituals don’t make the grief disappear. But they anchor us in the kind of love that never dies.

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🐾 Cattitude Prompt

Who are you still climbing for?
Leave a comment on this week’s post or email me back—I truly read and carry every single story you share.

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✨ Final Thought

We spend so much time trying to move on from loss.
But I’ve learned this:

We don’t move on.
We move with.

With their memory.
With their spirit.
With the lessons they left behind.

And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we get to take them up the side of a mountain with us.

I’ll never forget yesterday.
Not the pain.
Not the sunrise.
And not the overwhelming sense that Nomar was right there, just ahead of me on the path, waiting at the top.

Thanks for walking beside me.

With love and pawprints,
Scott
(and always, Nomar, Mia, Niko, and Milo)