A little something about pets

"Ma-rauw, ma-rauw, ma-rauw", say it with me, "ma-rauw."  That is all I have heard from my Fluffy cat since I picked her up from the vet’s office yesterday.  She’s been having problems with her right ear and the good doctor said there was something in there that had to come out.  I dropped her off on Tuesday, she had surgery on Wednesday and I brought her home on Friday.  She was not happy about her situation and she has been making it loud and clear ever since our drive home last evening.  She is calm as long as she is near me or on me, but if I get out of her sight or if her boyfriends won’t let her in their rooms then the ma-rauwing begins again.  Poor, sick Fluffy cat.

The good doctor told me they removed something nasty from her ear canal and he will call me when the pathology comes back on it.  I hope they got all of whatever it was and she will be well. I’m not quite ready to let go of her or my other cat, Kit-Kat.

Both of my cats came from my parents’ house when Mama moved out after Daddy died.  Kit was Daddy’s favorite.  She had her daily meal inside the house so she would not have to fight for her food.  She was allowed to spend time in the house as she pleased and she was locked on the front screened porch at night so the male cats in the neighborhood could not harm her.  She kept vigil over my Daddy from atop the TV cabinet or on the foot of his recliner in his last weeks.  When he visited me in a dream after he died it was not to ask about me how I was doing, but to ask if I was taking care of Kit.

Fluffy was a kitten of another one of his chosen ones, but she lived her life on the streets.  She was fed daily but she had to eat outside with the vagabond cats.  She has street cred.  She knows her way around a garbage can.  Spaghetti and corn cobs are her favorite treats, and she’s been known to climb inside a Popeye’s bag and push it around in search of the food that spawned the spicy scent.  She probably used to sleep in Popeye's bags, who knows.  She leads the life of a princess now, but there were times when she had it rough, really rough.

It was never my intention to have housecats, but cats have a knack for getting their way.  They’ve ruined my furniture, they make sickening messes, and I’m sure they are much to blame for my constant allergy problems.  But on the other hand they keep me company and make me laugh.  As long as they are alive there is a little bit of my Daddy still alive, too.  Every time I look at Kit I think of their loyalty to each other and I think he would be relieved to know she and Fluffy are well taken care of.  Their presence makes him feel close at hand.

I remember years ago my sister, Barbara, had a scruffy little terrier named Lady.  Lady was a gift from Barbara’s boyfriend, Ricky D.  Barbara adored that little dog.  Lady outlived Barbara’s relationship with her boyfriend, but not by much.  Lady must have become pregnant by a large dog, probably our other dog because I think she died birthing really big pups.  I don’t remember all the details of her death except for the grief my sister felt for the loss of her Lady.  I remember someone talking about how terribly sad Barbara was over her dog and my mother saying Barbara wasn’t grieving so much for her dog as she was for Ricky D.  Lady was the last thing she had left of Ricky D., and her grief was more from the loss of their relationship.  There aren’t many things I can clearly remember my mother saying, but I remember that.

There is something to that theory, I think.  I think sometimes we are given a pet by a loved one or we acquire a pet after losing a loved one and we take that unused love and attention and funnel into the pet.  When the pet dies the finality of the relationship we have been subconsciously keeping alive through the pet comes to fruition.  We do grieve because we lost our friend, but we also grieve for the loss of the other relationship.

Maybe I should have become a psychologist. Maybe my mother should have been a psychologist.

I know I will experience this second-hand grief when my cats are gone.  I expect it, and I don’t look forward to it.  So until that time comes I will keep them as healthy, loved, and well cared for as I can even if that means leaving them for a few days at the vet for surgery.

I was trying to quiet Fluffy this morning and I told her I was sorry for leaving her so long but I don’t want her to be sick.  That got me to wondering what pets must think when we leave them alone.  My dogs were always so excited to see us return at the end of the day.  It was as if they thought that whenever we left them it was the last time they would ever see us, so when we returned it was a great surprise and there was rejoicing.  Then that thought reminded me of heaven. If a dog can be so happy to see us return after eight hours apart, then surely our heavenly reunions with our dearly departed, pets included, will be sheer ecstasy. I'm thinking about it.