I'm sure you were all RIVETED by my tale of
cat poop puddles. Well, like it or not, the subject is back. Like I said,
I owe it to Morris to publicly confess that it was my cat-killing-karma that did him in.
For several months Morris was in and out of the vet clinic with new steroids and antibiotics in his system. Despite his potty problem (and the various pills being shoved down his throat), he was a content kitty. He enjoyed his chow, cuddled with my mom, played with Roderick, snoozed in the sun, captured (and ATE) a mouse, meowed at my kids, and purred for everyone. Meanwhile, I tried really hard not to be bad person (unsuccessfully): I fantasized about Morris being out of my life. What I mean is that I fantasized about a nice, peaceful DEATH for the cat. (The poop! The poop! It was too much for me!)
Then one day Morris was no longer a content kitty. He wasn't eating, he wasn't drinking, and he seemed pretty miserable. Once again, he was taken to the vet. And, once again, I assumed he would return to poop some more.
But this time he didn't come back.
The vet discovered a large tumor blocking his colon. Morris was put to sleep later that day. And the cat carrier came back empty.
Take a moment, especially if you are a cat person, to mourn Morris.......
Now, back to ME (because that's what this is really about):
Oh, the guilt! The GUILT! Of course I felt guilty! It was my dream come true! My wish was granted! It was all my fault! I willed him to die!! Did everybody know it was my fault??? Of course they knew! The shame! The guilt!
Morris was a nice cat. He was especially companionable with my mom--and now my mom was stuck with ME trying to give her comfort. Seeing as how I frequently threatened to kill the cat, I'm sure I was the last person from whom my mom would want comfort. But it really did make me sad. I could feel my old cat-loving self wanting to cry. Okay, so I didn't actually cry, but part of me wanted to. I'm not completely cold-blooded. I was genuinely sad.
But the truth of the matter is that life became much less stressful after Morris was gone. The burden was lifted, the tension released. (Now, Morris left our lives the same week Daniel went into the MTC. So I think it's better to attribute the lighter mood at home to the blessings you get when you have a missionary in your family than to the death of a loose-stooled feline. Sorry, Morris, you don't get the credit.)
If nothing else, thought, I learned an important lesson from Morris: I am indeed an animal-hater.
I wanted Morris dead simply because he was pooping puddles all over the house. I learned that I will not be able to deal with the inevitable inconveniences and sacrifices that come from owning a pet. I do not want to clean extra messes or adjust vacation plans or pay vet bills or buy pet food. I cannot give dogs or cats the training and love and attention they need. I know my parents wonder how I turned out to be such an animal-hater. From their example, I learned that cats and dogs need attention. They want to be part of a family. They deserve love. They require responsibility, commitment, and sacrifice. So I think what I learned from my family, and what I learned from Morris, is that I cannot (or will not) give a pet what it would deserve. So, yes, Morris and his puddles helped me realize that I am an animal-hater.
Or maybe in a round-about way I am still an animal-lover. What I've learned is that animals deserve better than me.
