My little brother, even though he considers himself my older brother, has been badgering me about blogging. There were many reasons why I shouldnt; I hate technology; Im not a good enough writer and who the hell wants to hear from me? But alas I gave in to my brother’s requests and here I am. I am dedicating my first blog to my little/big brother, who has always inspired me. My objective is to write anecdotes and memoirs about various topics. I promise you that some will be dark and others less so.
My family and I often caused pre-mature deaths to all our beloved animals; they were all accidental but I always felt responsible as we dug another hole in our backyard for our pets. I was determined that when I became an adult my pets would not suffer the same avoidable fates as did my other pets. I received Ripley the week I graduated college. I was starting my adult life and moving into my first apartment with my best friend, boyfriend, and my cat.
Ripley was wild. She ate curtains, clawed the furniture, refused to be caressed, hissed at visitors, ate cinnamon crackers, scared my parents 60 pound American Terrior, and made it known that she did not want to be a “pet”. But there were times when she cuddled into me when I was crying; saved me from a spider the size of my hand, and ate every rodent that dared step over our threshhold. To be honest, I wasn’t the best pet partner to her; I often drove from Florida to NY in a car without air conditioning; she would be drenched in sweat, her fur clumped together, panting loudly and supremely pissed. I also forgot her on my apartment’s ledge on the coldest night of the year in NYC…actually that happened twice. The worst of my offenses boil down to one night when she was jumping over a candle and caught on fire; I tried to catch her but I was too drunk and fell over. She was her own savior and ended up droping and rolling in my bath tub…unscarred. She walked back into the living room, her fur emitting clouds of smoke and the stench of burnt rubber. It would be days before she sat next to me on the couch again.
There were many adventures and I loved her dearly. Ripley and I were together for ten years. She was with me for 6 moves, 5 vacations, 10 christmas seasons, a marriage, a house, a dog, who she incidentaly owned, and a pregnancy. A week after I found out I was pregnant, Ripley started peeing on everything. I knew she wasn’t well when she permitted me to pick her up and caress her. I began to really worry when I needed to take her off my lap because she refused to get up if I didn’t. Then she started to pee on me. She stopped eating. She stopped playing with our dog, Mushy. By this time we had been going back and forth to the doctor’s office and then the day came when I picked her up and she was alarmingly light; I hadn’t noticed how small she became because her fur was masking her frailness. Her eyes looked dim but as we drove to the vet’s office I kept saying it was going to be fine. Everything was not ok; she had kidney failure; there was nothing he could do. We had two options: Take her home and let her die in a few days or he could put her to sleep. I was 31 years old; Ripley had been with me since I was 21. Get a grip, I said to myself. I started to feel guilty; I thought about people dying and here I am feeling totally broken about a cat that seemingly hated me. I was heaving in the doctors office, the more I tried to be rational the more irrational I became. I should be relieved, she was going to hate the baby and my parents are always telling me that cats try to kill babies in their cribs with their tales. She was self-expiring…for me. I caressed her as the doctor administered the injection. I thought it was going to be quiet and it was till the very end…then she gave a very loud, audible gasp, her eyes remained open and there she died. It didn’t seem very peaceful.
I kept my promise, my cat didn’t die because I left the gate open on accident; death did not befall upon her because of a mistake or miscaluation. She died and I felt the same unease as I did when I was a kid. I miss my grumpy Ripley. I miss the certainity of knowing that certain parts of your world exisist. The funny thing about pets is often you simply accept them for who they are. Maybe we do this because we know that an animals life span is shorter than a humans; but then again that is not always the case. Or perhaps it is because you cannot argue with them and tell them how disappointed you are. In so many of our adult relationships we try to change or control facets that we simply cannot change or control. I’m not saying we shouldnt change or demmand the best from our loved ones but it does make me think about how much peace I felt when I accepted my cat; it does make me think that for ten years I really enjoyed our time spent together. It does make me question what about my love ones should I simply accept and what, if anything, should I urge them to change.
Valcin
