Sad (for people that get the pet thing)

My cat Joe has been diagnosed with FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis). It's a horrible disease; by the time a cat is diagnosed, the disease is so far advanced that the cat is unlikely to live more than a few weeks or even days. My vet--who is terrific--sort of hinted that it would be okay if I wanted to have Joe euthanized immediately. But I didn't want Joe's last few days to be in a crate or cage. We're at home now.

I imagine my next couple of posts will be about, well, pets. I have a six year old dog, Daisy. Diasy is all about Joy and Happiness; she is the happiest dog on our planet. My previous cat, Elvis, died last November. Elvis was wonderful...as I told people, the life of a graduate student is often lonely and psychologically damaging in ways you sort of have to experience to believe. I was lucky; I had Elvis. I mentioned him in the acknowledgments of my dissertation. Joe will not have that chance, He is only 13 months old and will likely not make it to 14 months.

One person asked me why I was putting myself through this...why I didn't just let them put the cat down now to spare myself and the cat. I guess this is one of those non-pet people...the ones that just don't get it. There are millions of them, people that think of a pet as an appliance or can cut themselves off from the feelings of animals. You know these people; we all do. They usually start out by saying, "Look, I know pets have feelings..." but you can hear the "but" coming up and realize they really don't know or understand that at all.

I don't dislike these people. I just recognize that they are different from me. Obviously there are lots in my camp as well--the plethora of pet books and items (many of which my Mother gives to me as birthday/Christmas presents) tells me this. The popularity of Marley and Me shows this. I guess there are a lot of people much deeper in this camp than I am...I don't really need all the accoutrements that others need or want.

I don't need to be reminded that I love my cat. Joe can barely eat now. I scratch his head and give him Prednisone and put a plate of different varieties of cat and human food out for him--anything to get him to eat. He licks at them in a desultory way. What he really likes to do be is be with me. He sleeps under the covers, stretched out against my leg. He climbs on my chest and tucks his head under my chin and purrs. I pet his now thin body and make sure he knows how much he is loved and hasd been loved in his short time here. And he knows, he knows.