A Death in the Family

Let me preface this by saying that there has been no death in my family. I had to make that clear before proceeding.

Is your pet considered part of your family? You may never ponder this question during your pet’s life, but you are sure to think of it when the pet dies. And “the pet” isn’t a genderless entity; it’s a he or she.

Two friends lost a pet over the past week. It made me think about the role that pets play in our lives. We sometimes give human qualities to our pets. In our house there’s a running dialog of made-up cat commentary. We say what we assume they would say if they had the capacity to speak. They are generally gems like “I don’t care if my dish is full; it’s time to feed me” and “shut up and pet me.” The bottom line is that they become people.

We’re going to lose Sting and we’re going to lose Chewie. Domesticated cats who don’t venture outside can live 15-20 years. That’s a lot of naps. It only seems like a long time until it’s over. It’s not the purr that’s loud; it’s the silence.
A few years ago we literally had our Sting on a feeding tube to keep him alive. He had a liver issue that we couldn’t diagnose for months. He spent lots of time at the vet’s. We spent enough money to buy a used car to keep him going. How much would we have spent? How much do we have?

Pets aren’t people. They’re often better than people. We assign them emotions like jealousy, pettiness, and anger. In truth, they love unconditionally. It would be nice if the food dish were filled on time twice a day and that the litter box emptied regularly and that the screened-in porch be open all the time. None of those things are necessary. Nothing seems more pure than the purr.

They have distinct personalities. Sting’s a little more gruff and will give you “the claw” if you pet him the wrong way, and sometimes even the right way. He tries to hide under the bed when it’s time for his swaddle aka his daily medication. He’s never met a stranger. Chewie hides when people come over. He likes to eat plastic and knock things off shelves, especially after getting “the boot” from the bedroom. He is an alarm clock, standing in my face and meowing loudly when it’s time to wake up. And he purrs nearly constantly. He purrs when we pet Sting. He purrs when we put sheets on the bed. He even purred once when a vet gave him a shot.

So farewell Mocha and good bye Woody. Mocha was a dog and Woody was a cat, but in the owner’s eyes there is no difference. Both lived into their teens and were treated well. They will be missed.

That’s what happens when you’re family.