Our pets. Why do we love them so much? It certainly isn’t rational. Their lifespans are much shorter than ours. They didn’t give birth to us, raise us, or support us financially through college. They aren’t our bosses, our pastors, our marriage partners or our children. They won’t save us in a medical emergency, fire, or accident. They don’t provide much of what is critical in life – except unconditional love.
My dog, Jake, has an interesting way of looking at our relationship and his place in my home. From the time he was a tiny puppy he determined that it is his job to keep me in line. In the morning he stands in front of me to indicate that, hey, it is time to get up out of that recliner and do something – anything but sit around! Jake is an Australian Shepherd and he has a burning stare that says, ‘I’m the boss and I’m not moving until you do.’ During the day he is my constant companion – constantly underfoot, in the way, in need of a treat, asking to go out and then back in and out again pretty darn soon after the first time. His toys are scattered all over the house and at intervals he cheerily brings me a slobbery Kong toy to be filled with peanut butter, a slimy fabric squeak toy to throw, or anything else that is lying around. In the evenings he will stand at the back door, on guard, until I notice and lock the door and close the curtains. Only then will he go ‘off duty’ for the day, assured that the house is secure and he can finally flop down on his dog bed and snooze. And, do I dare to go somewhere in the car without him – HA! No way. As I mentioned above, he is either in front of me, behind me, at my feet or on my lap at all times. Should I reach for my purse, car keys, or even cell phone, he is instantly alerted that it is time to go for a ride! In Jake’s mind (I think) he simply cannot conceive of a separation between us. We belong together . . . whether it is convenient or not. For Jake, his purpose in life is – me – and I am positive that he believes my purpose in life is him because that is how he behaves, bless his heart.
Cats are a little bit different. At least most of them are. My family has had the wonderful experience of owning a cat that, I swear, was smarter than most. Her name was Ork. My son was 14 at the time we brought Ork home to be his cat. He was also a fan of role playing games so I ‘blame’ him for the years of questioning glances from vets, neighbors, and friends who met her and asked, ‘Ork? What’s an Ork?’ Ork witnessed more events during her long life of 21 years than we could have ever imagined when we picked her and her sister Mocha out of a litter of free cats. Both were mutts without pedigree. Who cared – they were adorable and soft and cuddly and that made them perfect. As both of my kids grew up and moved out, leaving the cats behind, it seemed natural for me to bond even closer with them. An empty nest can be a difficult thing. Pets became my ‘furry children’ and I, for one, thank God for that. Ork and Mocha had the run of the house for 7 years before Jake appeared on the scene. After a few days of adjustment, all was well. All 3 moved with me from Alaska to Seattle in 1999 when a career move was offered. In 2001, I developed a sudden, severe illness (Systemic Lupus) and lost my health and career at the same time because of it. It was a heavy blow but as I sat, ill and bedridden for an entire year, all 3 offered themselves as an extra blanket to keep ‘Mom’ warm and in good company. It took 2 years and physical therapy to become mobile enough to get out and about again. They were patient . . . if Mom was a bit slow handing out the treats, or throwing the slimy dog toy, or scattering the catnip – no problem. In 2004, the 4 of us stayed behind when my husband accepted a position in London, England, and left for 2 years. I worried that I would not be able to keep up with everything in the house and yards, just as I was becoming somewhat mobile again. It was very comforting to find that Ork, Mocha, and Jake adjusted quickly to a reduced number in the family and taking their cue, I did too. The 4 of us managed, and the bond between my 3 ‘furry children’ and me became even stronger.
As most cats do, Ork and Mocha developed kidney issues as they aged. Beginning at age 9, they both required nightly injections of subcutaneous fluids by IV to keep their kidneys flushed. They also required a pill for thyroid issues. So every evening I would seek them out like a dutiful Mom and would administer the fluids and poke down the pills. Mocha suffered a series of strokes during 2007, and in 2008 the vet and I held her as she slipped away peacefully from the vets tender administration of medication. Ork wondered for a while about Mocha’s absence but time healed the absence and we moved forward. By this time, though, Ork was age 19 and skinny as a rail so I bought her a heated cat bed and placed it on one end of our couch. It became known as ‘Orks butt bed’ because she would position herself just so, on the heating pad, and a little cat smile would curl up her whiskers and her gaze would say, ‘thanks Mom, I LOVE this bed!’
At the start of this year, 2011, Ork’s health began to go seriously downhill. I knew the time was coming to say goodbye but held off until the Mother’s Instinct said ‘now’. Ork had been there as my kids entered their teens, as they left home, as we moved to a new state and a new life in a different home, as I battled the start of a chronic disease and the loss of a career, as – so many changes happened. You know, we humans like to think that we are tough. Especially women. We marry, bear children, manage homes and finances, cook, clean, shop, chauffeur, and cheer on – as we work like soldiers in demanding careers to put food on the table. We love being needed and we love caring for those – furry and not – who look to us for love, support, caring, dinner, $5 to go to the movies with friends, and everything else. As we watch our human children grow and leave home, it is our job to cheer them on to independence – even though in our minds and hearts they will always be our babies. But it is different with pets. They are our babies until the end and we never have to let them go until it is absolutely necessary. We can be completely selfish in our love for them – and they love us for that.
One day in January, Ork and I locked eyes and I knew it was that time. I made the decision, called the vet, carried her in my arms to the appointment, and cried like a baby as she slipped away. And as her little spirit soared to that Next World, a dam broke in my heart.
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