Furry Family Members

Almost everyone I know with pets thinks of them this way--as family members who wear fur coats and run around on four feet--as opposed to just merely animals.  When it comes to our cats, we feel the same way.  I personally dread the day that we have to make the hard, right, horrible decision to offer our smallest family members the comfort of death.  In fact, I do my best to not think about it and enjoy life with my kitties.  Po is creeping up on 14, so I know it will be sooner rather than later, but this is one of those things where ignorance is far more blissful than reality.

In the last month or so, two of our friends have faced the loss of a beloved furry family member.

Pets are grieved just like any other loss.

I do not envy them their pain.  I know my turn is coming.

But I hope, in relating this story from my own childhood, I can help them through their hurt, help them answer the hard questions.  College Roomie #2 has already been told this story, because she has young children and I thought she'd need to hear it.  I didn't expect that I'd have to tell it again this soon, and this time, for Tab and Two-D.  At least CR2's kids knew their beloved doggy was old and sick.  Tab and her family didn't expect to lose their chocolate lab today.  (Yes, my heart breaks for them.)

Spooky Look-alike

Innyhoo.

When I was about 12, my best friend in the whole world was the kitty-corner (pardon the pun) neighbor's  16-year-old cat, Spooky.  In a world of angst and confusion, he loved unconditionally and without reservation. I could tell him secrets that I couldn't trust to anyone else. I was 12, puberty was already no fun, and my parents had put our house on the market. (I loved that house.)  And he was as close to having a kitty of my own as I'd ever get--we had a houseful of allergies.  I took care of him when his owners would go away on vacation.  He would tolerate all sorts of affection.  I loved him.

Spooky was sick. I didn't know it, but my mom saw the signs. And sixteen is pretty ancient for an indoor/outdoor cat.

I was devastated when his owners made the awful choice to put him to sleep. My mom recollected recently how I'd come to her in tears not long after that awful day, and I asked if I would see Spooky in heaven.

Apparently a degree in elementary education and English does not prepare a parent for deep theological questions out of the mouths of grieving children.

Mom managed not to panic, although she said her thoughts were racing for the right answer to that question. Because if she answered it wrong, the consequences would be traumatic. But by the same token, she wanted to be sure the answer she gave me was biblically correct.

I honestly believe she got a jolt of divine inspiration.

She said, "Well, I know that God has promised that whatever we need will be in heaven. So if you need Spooky to be there, God will have him there."

And I think she's right.

It's been a long time since I was twelve.  I have my own small children asking me tough questions, theological and otherwise.  I have cats of my own now that I love just as much as I loved Spooky, if not more.  I know the inevitable is coming.  I'm not the grieving little girl I was then...but I find just as much comfort in those words now.

Thankfully, my experience as a child will help my children as they grieve.  And help me, too, to be honest.  For as much as I'm convinced almost daily that my cats are purrfect little heathens and should probably go straight to hell for some of the stunts they've pulled, I cannot imagine life without them.

I hope heaven has rejuvenated Spooky.  He's going to need it, because I fully expect my fuzzy heathens to be there with him.

Come to think of it, the cats as a whole better be prepared, because I think they'll have to join JJ's Thatcher, CR2's Casey, and Tab's BayLeigh up there.