Apr
10
I know, this sounds terrible. But what do I mean by it?
I tend to personify the family animals, and pretend they are human. Since I’m only home for 2 weeks out of the year, I often pretend that they are with me, keeping me company when I am alone or at my side when I doze off to sleep at night.
My dog and cat are two very nice animals. They are happy and grateful to have a home. They both appreciate our family and show it by spending time in our laps or cuddling up at night.
I am very grateful for their enduring affection, and when I am home I make a big fuss over them. I sneak cookies to the dog, or visit the cat in the attic where he sleeps. I pet them where they like it most, let them outside so they can relieve themselves, or keep them company by carrying them into the family den when no one else is around the house.
You could say the relationship I have is a two way street.
The one thing that troubles me about pets is that one day they pass on. When the family dog died in 1997, I was completely devastated. The dog was an angel, and had persevered through a lot of health problems to become a loyal and happy member of our family. In her last days, I watched as she suffered horribly from a genetic disease. She would have terrible seizures and in the end was on so much medication that she was catatonic. I cried endlessly and was in a depression after she died, though I tended to hide it all from those around me because I felt they would never understand the loss I felt: it was as if another human being died.
In the summer of 2004, the first family cat, who lived a full 14 years, disappeared one day and was never seen again. She was old and becoming a little senile, but she always knew how to take care of herself and was very savvy. I heard this news while I was waiting for my flight connection in Dulles airport in Washington DC when I was returning home for Christmas. I was very upset about this as well. My mind jumped to all conclusions, including the thought that my father might have kicked the cat in anger over something, or that she was hit by a speeding car and my mother was covering this up in order to avoid unnecessary heartache.
In the end I knew that it was most likely the case that she did simply disappear, choosing to not trouble us with her final moments.
My family picked out another dog just before Christmas 1997, and we have loved and enjoyed her and our other cat to this day.
I like to pretend that she is sitting next to me, and I have conversations with her in absentia. I like to think the cat is purring away on my pillow when I fall asleep at night: these thoughts are comforting to me and give me some sense of temporary solace.
Why don’t I have pets of my own? For the moment, I still can’t bring myself to deal with the day when they eventually die; and also because my living arrangements inside an apartment house don’t permit having cats or dogs.
My mother and my psychiatrist both explain away the loss of pets by saying “It’s part of their natural life cycle.” I say to myself, “Yeah… thanks for pointing out the obvious and giving me the first grade science class answer to a much more complicated issue.”
I consider the family dog and cat dear friends and often feel as if I abandoned them when I left for Costa Rica. In recent years, however, I have come to accept this emotion as natural, and remind myself that the circumstances of every life, be it human or animal, are constantly changing. Thus, the idea that I would be with my dog every minute of her life is simply not reasonable because I must balance this emotion with the other vast needs and ambitions I have for my time here on Earth.
All the same, I will always remember and cherish their lives as truly loyal, genuine, and grateful. It never ceases to amaze me that the mere act of feeding and providing for an animal produces such a happy, emotional bond. Dogs, Cats, fish, parrots, horses, reptiles, whatever your choice is, enjoy the time you have with them and they will give back to you happiness in exponential amounts.