Nik Bonopartis

On a rainy day in Japan’s Southern Wakayama Prefecture, more than 3,000 mourners shuffled through a small Shinto shrine to pay their respects to Tama, the beloved, departed stationmaster at Kishi train station. Flowers were piled high next to images of Tama from happier times. A Shinto priest led a hymnas train riders, railroad personnel and Tama’s long-time admirers bowed their heads solemnly. Tama was a cat.

It’s become a common sight in veterinary offices throughout the U.S. in recent years: A concerned client rushes in, cradling a newly-adopted cat or kitten who is lethargic, weak and near death. After ruling out a list of common ailments, the veterinarian asks about diet, and that’s when it all begins to make sense. The owner is a vegan, you see, and thought little Socks could be a vegan too, so she’s had her furball on a diet of tofu, soy products and vegetables.

When her veterinarian sat her down and said her beloved cat, Stanley, only had a few months to live, Betsy Boyd didn’t bat an eye. She was willing to save Stanley no matter what it took, and in the end the price was $19,000 for a kidney transplant. It was more than a leap of faith for Boyd, a part-time creative writing teacher who earns about $46,000 a year.