Pets and Their Humans

My odyssey into pet ownership started in my early twenties with the addition into my home and family (then containing myself and the serious human relationship I was in) of a black Maine Coon named Shadow. My boyfriend (at the time) got a call from his ex-wife saying she couldn't afford to keep both their cats and asked if he wanted one of them. He talked to me about it and basically my answer boiled down to - go get him and bring him home. Now, before I get too into this, I'm really not a cat person as a general rule. There are a few in my lifetime that have won me over, but I prefer dogs to cats when it comes to companionship. Anyway, a couple of days later, the former boyfriend came home with this huge black fuzzy and shaking mound of fur. It took a couple of weeks for him to unclench himself and soon after, he became MY cat. He was my Sweet Pea (a pet name only I used) and he both ingratiated himself into my heart and drove me up the freaking wall. You see, he loved to nibble on roses and other live plants. There were a few rude awakenings in the middle of the night where he knocked over flowers on the headboard and doused me and the former man in icy water, petals and leaves. Thanks for that, Shadow.

For a few years, it was me and the man and Shadow all living in quasi peace - barring the knocking over of plants and flowers and random objects he took interest in. He would follow me into the bathroom and sit in the sink or on the tub ledge while I took a bath, or sleep on my legs while I tried to sleep through a ten pound cats sleeping on my legs. He was the first cat to completely capture my heart and I loved him like I haven't loved another cat since. The man and I got married not long after and we were together for a week shy of six years. I got Shadow in the divorce. I also got all the furniture since we didn't actually own any property and I was only working part time due to a restriction from my doctor (I'd been diagnosed with Fibro) and would never be able to afford replacing everything. 

Not long before the divorce, my mom called and told me she'd been sick a lot lately and things were getting harder and harder for her to take care of. She was living in Colorado at the time and after talking to him about it, we extended an invitation for her to move in with us to make things easier. She took us up on the offer and the first winter here, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. If you're keeping track folks, I was going through the separation (not to mention finding out he cheated on me with co-workers and my now former best friend as well as random strangers he picked up at the bar) and coping with a cancer diagnosis with the only person that has ever been a constant in my entire life. Me and my mother had some ups and downs, but she was a single parent and I was her only child. It was always me against the world. If it weren't for my amazing doctor, I would have turned into a basket case (he prescribed an anti-depressant when I told him "my husband's leaving me and my mom was just diagnosed with cancer and I'm the only one able to take care of her"). 

So, the husband moved out and Shadow and my mother stayed. I was still only working part time, my mother was still working, but not much, and the husband's income was no longer a factor because he was no longer living with us (he did, however, give me money to keep the apartment going, but most of it always went back to him in the form of food and cigarettes and his doing laundry at the apartment). 

After being diagnosed with cancer, me and my mom wrote out a bucket list for her. We were hopeful that she would make it through to the other side, but on the chance that she didn't, we wanted to make what time she had left as filled with amazing things as possible. During one of her week-long trips to Boston for treatment at Dana Farber, I went to the local shelter in search of a dog that could easily adapt to life in a two bedroom apartment with a modest backyard. I saw only one dog that day, Sebastian. A volunteer was moving him from the back of the shelter toward the kennels and he was white and tan shaggy and wagging so hard his whole body was shaking. He and his brother had just been rescued from a kill shelter somewhere downstate and both were suffering kennel cough. I explained to the woman about my mother and how she was undergoing cancer treatment and how the number one item on her bucket list was getting a dog. My mother was in her late forties and had wanted a dog her entire life and never had one. I then explained to her that I could either afford the adoption fee or the supplies needed to bring a dog into our home. She waived the adoption fee and gave me a voucher to get him fixed and soon I was taking this shaggy wagging dog home.

My mother called that afternoon and knew something was up because I was normally home by the time she called. She couldn't hear a dog and I played stupid, but she somehow knew something was going on. When she came home a couple of days later, Sebastian greeted her at the door and she cried. She finally had a dog, a companion to keep her company when she was home and in bed because the chemo took a lot out of her and her trips to Boston for radiation were worse than the chemo.

So there we were, the four of us: me, mom, Shadow and Sebastian (we changed his name to Merlin because he didn't answer to Sebastian - we started throwing out names to see if he responded to any of them and mom was really into Arthurian legends and when we threw out Merlin, his head whipped around and he barked; we took it as a sign). Shadow hated Merlin. Merlin was piqued with Shadow. A few months showed Shadow tolerating Merlin and heading to higher ground whenever the dog was in the same room.

During the long trips to Boston, Merlin ended up becoming my dog. And my husband came home with the intention of trying to make it work. Merlin and Shadow became cautious friends, but I felt bad about the pooch becoming mine. I think it had something to do with the fact that I'm the one that brought him home from the scary shelter, so he kind of thought of me as the human that saved him. Either way, my mom still didn't have a companion, so the husband and I decided to get her a kitten. That was an experience.

The little gray fur-ball came into our lives and was named Kilala. Let's do a quick math problem. In a good sized two bedroom apartment we now had three adult sized humans, one adult cat, one teenage dog and a kitten. Wacky hijinks were a daily occurrence. Shadow tolerated Merlin. Merlin was cautious with Shadow. Shadow hated Kilala. Kilala was interested in Shadow. Merlin was curious about Kilala. Kilala was scared to death of Merlin. It was insane. 

Mom got sicker. The husband moved out again and decided to file for divorce. And then mom finally was approved for disability. In the end, cancer ultimately claimed her about six months before the divorce was finalized. So I was left alone in a two bedroom apartment that held nothing but memories of a failed marriage and a terminally ill mother. The day my mother died, I went to work as normal. It sounds callous, but I couldn't stay in that apartment alone. I would have lost my mind. I took the next few days off, though. And during those days, Merlin climbed into bed with me and laid behind me. He rested his muzzle on my neck so his nose was pressed against my cheek. And he didn't move. The only time he got up was when it was time for him to go outside and time for food. Other than that, he resumed his position of protecting and comforting me. Shadow laid on the bedside table closest to my head. Kilala sprawled out on the foot of the bed. They rallied around me for as long as I needed them. And that cinched it. They were mine and I refused to give them up.

My doctor approved a new full time work schedule, but even so, I'd lost two incomes and trying to make ends meet on one income was a challenge. For six months (until I got my first roommate), I struggled to pay all the bills and still manage to keep food (both human and animal) and litter in the house. Ultimately I ended up living on rice and Ramen noodles for about six months. Now that I think about it, it could have been longer. I can't remember. It was a long time.

The new roommate(s) moved in and I was able to use the money saved to pay down on some bills and was almost set to do it alone by the time they moved out to a better situation. I was standing on my own two feet and had managed to keep all three of my animals. 

The long convoluted point I'm trying to make is: I sacrificed a lot in order to keep Shadow, Merlin and Kilala. Not long after the final roommate moved out, Shadow became ill. He was eating up to ten cans of wet food a day, was meowing all night because he was going deaf and was having trouble moving around due to severe arthritis in his hind leg from where it was broken while he was with the ex-husband's first ex-wife. You see, Shadow was always my main man. When he started showing symptoms of weight loss shortly after my mom died, I asked him to wait a year. I couldn't deal with the death of another loved one so close to losing my mother. He waited three years. And now it was my turn to keep the promise I made him. I would take care of him. I brought him to the vet and the vet calmly explained to me that with a host of medications he could live another few years. But it ultimately boiled down to quality of life. If his quality of life was going to continue to slide, I didn't want him suffering anymore. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make. 

The vet asked me if I wanted to be there when they made the injection. I said yes. I refused to let the last person he saw be the vet or the vet technician. I wanted him to look at me and know he was loved and to know I was so very sad to see him go and that I was keeping my promise to him. He took care of me all those years, it was my turn to take care of him. I wouldn't shirk the responsibility. I wouldn't turn my back during the hardest moments. The vet technician told me I could talk to him. I reminded her that he was deaf and couldn't hear me. Instead, I knelt down in front of the exam table, buried my fingers in the fur at his neck and scratched him in his favorite place. In doing that, I forced him to look at me. He flinched when they delivered the shot. His eyes never left mine. He was purring. He saw my tears. He knew how much I loved him. And then he was gone. 

I stayed in that room for ten minutes, crying so loud I swear I scared the hell out of whoever was in the waiting room. I gathered myself, though the tears didn't stop. I left the room and paid for the procedure and went home where I continued to cry for hours. He was my first "baby" and he was gone. He would no longer roam the hallway at night, yowling at the top of his blessed little lungs. He wouldn't lay on the ledge of the tub while I took a bath anymore. I gave away all the soft food I'd purchased to make sure he was eating. I folded some of his hair into tissue paper and put it in a plastic bag and tucked it out of the way. Shadow was gone and the house felt empty, even with Merlin and Kilala causing a ruckus.

In time, I was okay. I still miss him, but I look back on him with fondness now instead of sadness. He made my life better. He helped get me through the beginning and ending of a marriage and the death of my mother. I'll forever be grateful to him for keeping his promise, just as I hope he's grateful to me for keeping mine.

And now comes the part where my anger gets the better of me.

About two years after Shadow moved on to the next level of the game, I saw a post on a local "free" site via Facebook. Someone was moving and couldn't bring their cat(s) with them. I thought about it for a few minutes and decided, why not? I still bought enough food and litter for two cats because it was ingrained in my by that time. I could open up my home to another cat. It wouldn't be Shadow, but it would be a good home to the feline that came in. Raven came into my home the next day. She was tiny and dainty and log haired (nothing like the behemoth Kilala who had somehow managed to look more and more like Jabba the Hut over the years and is affectionately called Jabba the Kitteh). She spent the first night hiding under my bed. On the second day, I dragged her out from under the bed and reintroduced her to the food, water and litter box. A couple of days later, Raven's previous owner contacted me again saying she couldn't find a home for Raven's mother Willow and did I know of anyone. I told her I would take Willow as well. I didn't like the idea of separating a child from a parent. 

So, there I was - three cats and a dog. Merlin was used to having cats around by this time and showed subdued excitement and interest. Kilala hated them all, except Merlin. For four weeks, I lived through hissing and cat fights and broken things. I realized that the previous owner hadn't clued me in that they were indoor/outdoor cats and trying to wrangle two cats that want to go outside (both unfixed females, mind you) while hooking the dog up to the run in the backyard was a challenge I lost on a couple of occasions. Raven got out one night and simply didn't come back. I went after her and tried to catch her, told my neighbors to keep an eye out for her and if they saw her, to try and lure her inside. No one saw her. She never came back.

At the time of Raven's disappearance, Willow gave birth to six kittens - in my bedroom closet. The previous owner didn't inform me that she was pregnant. Yeah. I was thrilled. Not really. Now the tally was one adult human, one adult dog, two adult cats and six kittens. In a two bedroom apartment.

A week after their birth, when they started really moving around some, I found out I was highly allergic to kittens (or that many cats in a space the size of my apartment). I muddled through it and started looking for homes. I named the group the Killjoys (in honor of my favorite band, My Chemical Romance). The three black kittens didn't get names, because they were the first ones claimed by friends. The two gray kittens were named Frick and Frack. The tiger was named Party Poison (Poison for short). For six weeks, I had to get inventive to keep them in the second bedroom so they wouldn't race around my apartment. By this time, I was coughing non-stop and had hives all over my body. I just needed them to not get all over the apartment so I would have rooms I could find a little relief in.

Willow, the untrainable cat (she would snatch food right off your plate and wouldn't stay off the counters, even after two months of spray bottles and swats to the hind quarters), ended up going to a friend of mine with the runt of the litter (a tiny black female cat). The two remaining black male kittens, and Frick and Frack all found homes within a week of each other. I ended up keeping the Poison because he'd become attached to me and I to him.

Poison is now five months old and I've set up an appointment for him to get his first round of shots and get fixed during the beginning of January. It was hell trying to find homes for the kittens. And Raven was still missing. This is when the woman that couldn't keep Willow and Raven decided to post on the very same freebie site that she was looking for a cat to keep her company because her other one wasn't a cuddle feline. I about lost my shit.

Six months ago, you couldn't keep your cats and now you're looking for more? You have got to be kidding me. And thus brings me to the major point of my story.

Pets are not disposable. There are no excuses, nothing anyone could say in order to explain away why they did what they did. There are very few circumstances in which I will say okay to someone giving up an animal (major illness, the death of an owner). The loss of a job or moving is not an acceptable reason. The moment you brought that animal into your home, you made it your responsibility to take care of it through good and bad, thick and thin. You don't find them new homes or give them to shelters just because times are tough. They're tough all over the place. You cut other things out, things that don't have feelings and personalities and souls. Cut down on your cable bill. Cut down on how much electricity you consume. Cut down on the material items you buy that don't include food. These pets look to you for comfort and basic needs. You want to know why most animals in shelters have trust issues? Because jerks like you, previous owner, think that animals are disposable and will adjust to new homes. Sure, they adjust, but they also become a little broken. They suffer anxiety just like humans. They love just like humans. They trust in a way humans haven't trust since they were infants. Throwing them away breaks all of that in them. 

And its up to the new owners, people like me, to try and fix them. It took years and a lot of destroyed items and a pulled up rug by the front door to convince Merlin that just because I was leaving didn't mean I wasn't coming back. Years. Now that he's been with me for a decade, he pretty much gets it. I leave, but I always come back. Because I made a promise to him the day I brought him home. I wouldn't leave him and I wouldn't give him away. He was stuck with me until one of us died. End of story. Its the same with Kilala and now with Poison. I made them the same promise. I don't make promises lightly. 

So, if I fall on hard times again, I have Cup-o-Soups stocked up in the kitchen and rice isn't all that expensive. I'll take my lumps and complain about my diet, but my animals will eat and I'll be able to keep them with me. Because nothing in this world gives you the specific joy that a pet can bring you. And for the owners that don't make those same promises to their animals, you don't deserve them. You never have. You never will. And I'll make sure you don't have the opportunity to get another animal. I'll call a spade a spade in a public forum just to make sure of it. If you don't like it, don't be a jerk to animals in the first place - and keep the pets you originally acquired.

P.S. Don't think I'm an awful person, Poison just entered my home after I got a digital camera and scanning all the pictures I took of the other three is a process I haven't had the time to do yet.

My beloved Shadow. Trying to take a picture of him was a pain in the ass. He was too fuzzy for the camera to actually focus on him.

Shadow and his beloved catnip teddy bear. He would carry it around everywhere and it needed to be patched up on several occasions.

Merlin. Yes, he sleeps in my bed. No, I don't want you to list the reasons why that's not a good thing.

I never claimed he was sane.

Kilala. I had the idea to take picture of the animals in snow. Believe it or not, she's in my arms and I'm also taking the picture.

This is what she does best.

Party Poison of the Fabulous Killjoys. He was playing hide and seek with a friend of mine.

His favorite place to sleep is my lap, apparently.

The little jerk likes to follow me into the bathroom. No privacy.

Yeah. He has me wrapped. Now, if I could just train him NOT to climb my curtains, all would be well with the world.