Monday, October 23, 2006
Over the years, we have had a cat or two. When we started off our marriage, Ace and I had a black and white cat named Sylvester. Before kids, Sylvester was our child. When he was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (heart failure), it felt like my world was crumbling. Seriously. And when we had to put him to sleep, I was beside myself with grief. I carried on for DAYS. My mother was quite disappointed with me, mumbling things like "you wait until you have a child in peril ... THEN you will know what true heartache is."
And she was right. Because seriously, he was a cat. But he was near and dear to my heart, and we had invested so much time and money in his medications and treatments that it felt like we had been robbed of time with him.
Then came Luke and Leia, our Himalayans. Brother and sister, named after the infamous brother and sister team of the Star Wars saga, they were quite the pair. We had them until we moved back to my home town, and then my mother had to take care of them because we were living (for the time being) with my elderly aunt. We ended up selling them because we didn't know when we would be able to get into a house, and my mother just does NOT do indoor pets, especially ones that come with a litterbox. She felt extremely guilty after we sold them. I never consoled her on those feelings because she was the one who forced the issue.
We have had three cats and one dog since then. One cat we had to immediately take back to the Humane Society because she bit the Queen when the Queen was just a toddler. The second cat we gave away because he had fleas ... We couldn't keep him out of our crawl space, and he would bolt out the door at a moment's notice. We just HATE fleas (don't know of anyone who loves them) and when you see a flea on your child's arm, that is the last straw.
Then we got our last cat, Ra. He was a good cat, but he was a barn cat. I would always say "you can take the cat out of the barn, but can't take the barn out of the cat." And the older he got, the worse he acted around the kids. He would lie in wait in the hallway, and when an unsuspecting child would come down the hallway, he would pounce on them, attach himself to their leg, and then bite them. So Ra was banished to the basement where, like Jake, he decided the crawl space was a cool place. And then the fleas started. So we got him all cleaned up, and gave him away.
In between there, we had a dog. A 10-year old Golden, given to us by a lady who just didn't have the time to invest in him anymore. Goldens are awesome dogs, but they are pretty set in their ways when they hit 10. And he had been around kids, but not all the time. So by the time that the dog bit the Door Man on the bridge of his nose, barely missing his eye, we found a new place for Simba.
There are times when I feel bad that the kids don't have a dog. We will not be getting any more cats as the Monkey has some asthma problems that pop up. Ever since we got rid of Ra, we have barely had to give her any breathing treatments.
So we will just grin and bear the comments that the kids make when they come home from sleepovers or birthday parties or playdates about how Susie has three dogs and Billy has two cats. Because, really, we just don't do pets.
I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.
All we were missing was the Ark