I have always had pets. From my early years growing up on Vancouver Island (my place of birth), there was always a furry or feathery friend nearby. Various cats and kittens, barn babies mostly, filled with fleas and hunger. A duck who would ceremoniously wait patiently at my school bus stop in front of my home, and greet me with glee when I started down the bus steps. The dogs who stood by my side faithfully. Throw in some birds, hamsters and rabbits, and the picture shows just how my life has always been full of fur-love.
Fur babies
The funny thing about having pets, or maybe it’s a sad thing, is that we seem to take for granted that we have them. We forget that just as with human life, our beloved pets cannot live forever, either.
The upsetting part of this is that we don’t really seem to come to terms with how it will affect us, until we are faced with a sick pet, an aging one or a tragedy. We just enjoy the happiness and amazing comfort we get from our best furry friends; life without them doesn’t seem to be a remote possibility.
My current family—which consists of myself, my husband, and three daughters ranging from tween to young adult in ages—enjoys the love and companionship of our two fur-babies. These are an old cat who turned 17 recently, named Astro, and a young pug pup who will turn three soon, named Hermione (yes, we let the kids name the dog, and yes, we are a Harry Potter family).
We have been lucky that both have remained healthy. Our cat had a blip in his health during his early years; we rescued him from our local animal shelter, and with that, animals often get things like kennel cough, which he contracted.
Late last year, Astro suddenly began having seizures. It was the most terrifying thing we had witnessed. We understood that his age would eventually bring on some issues, but seeing them occur firsthand changed all of us as a family. The kids were scared and I was in shock, but in time, I saw the kids show the braveness and compassion I already knew they had within them (yet, it was still new and very beautiful).
We all know how cats can be, for the lack of a better word, jerks. And I won’t lie, our boy Astro has challenged us many times, for many years, as any cat does. But at the same time, people who have visited our home have often remarked at how his mannerisms and behaviour were similar to that of a dog: sweet, calm, compassionate, gentle.
I have always believed that he is that way because we rescued him, and he was just grateful. Our journey into his aging, and facing his life coming to its natural end, was not something I was looking to deal with. Not now, anyhow.
The Sandwich Generation
I am cracking middle age with a fierce anxiety and sadness. I’ve been learning how to manage living in the Sandwich Generation that is now my life, because my parents are aging and facing health issues. I am also trying to maintain a marriage, this household and changing careers. We as a family are coping with our oldest daughter, now 20, enduring a chronic autoimmune illness that has altered her life.
No, dealing with one of the pets becoming ill wasn’t anything I felt I could manage. And you wouldn’t think it was such a large occurrence. But it is huge. And I am learning so much through caring for my furry boy.
My children have been amazing in handling the tough aspects of life that his sudden health issues have brought into our world. Admittedly, in the past, we would easily become frustrated with him when he would pounce or leap onto our laps or food dishes (LOL!) as we sat, and we thought nothing of pushing him aside and scolding him for such actions. Nothing mean or hurtful, obviously, but just sort of after-thought behaviour from all of us. I’m sure many cat owners can secretly admit to this, if they’re honest with themselves.
Now, the gentleness and care we all instinctively feel we must offer him when he enters the room has changed all of us. I believe he’s making us better people. Better pet owners. We absolutely took for granted that we would have our ‘bugger boy’ forever. We knew cats could live long, fabulous lives, and we just assumed his would keep on keeping on.
Watching that first seizure broke us. And while it was hard enough to watch our boy writhe around and go stiff, looking into his eyes as those frightening moments happened—the fear, the fight-or-flight come to life—just shattered each of us in its own way.
For me, personally, coming to grips with my aging parents has been a similar ride, and a scary one at that. Facing medical scares, hospital visits and the mound of ‘what if’ scenarios that continuously fight for space within my mind is hard enough to manage, but living it every day at home, with my pet, has oddly been helpful. Somehow, the strength and bravery we Mom-figures are supposed to encompass, or at least that I have grown to see as normal, has finally shown up for me.
The value of life
I struggle with anxiety and aspects of depression. I have throughout my entire life, and I won’t lie: I admit, I am horrendous in a crisis. I am not strong, I am easily frightened beyond my normal overthinking, and I panic. Yup, I am not the one you want to come to for comfort during a bad situation. Certainly not when I am personally involved, or if it has anything to do with my own flesh and blood.
But somehow, this doesn’t apply to fur. As Astro began to require medication, I came to learn how vital giving dosages and maintaining vet communications must be. Instead of getting stressed as usual about having ‘one more damn thing to be in charge of’, I am finding some comfort in doing this for him.
His medications have increased recently, and the side effects are almost as upsetting as the seizures. It is heartbreaking to watch him wobble, collapse and stare off into the distance, unaware of where he is. It is then that my instinct kicks in and I feel the need to comfort, call to him and allow him to be on my lap nearly constantly, as he instinctively seeks comfort.
He’s on a strict medication schedule; he is ravenous and wants to eat anything and everything, and can barely clean himself. I joke that he is my elderly Grandpa patient in the palliative care wing. Yeah, bad humour, but that’s how we roll here with it. Sick humour.
Anyway, it all has consumed me, but it has greatly helped me, too. It’s also helped us prepare for the end. His end. While we are a pretty sensitive bunch in this family, we are actually coping pretty well. We are focusing on him by making him happy, taking lots of photos and making memories, because we now are acutely aware that his health won’t improve, and we are understanding what making a family member comfortable at the end of their life involves.
Yes, it’s sad. Yes, I cry, as do the kids, but I think we are learning and coming to terms with everything. I always knew animals were vital to humans, with the lessons they teach us and the love they give us. But we are getting a lesson every day about the value of a life—the importance of making a pet (or a person!) comfortable, even though you’re afraid to lose them, you’re uncomfortable with death and illness, and are afraid to witness more suffering—and this has been remarkable.
I am facing things I was putting off dealing with, and I am succeeding. Our furry boy is cuddly and smiling through his illness, and I feel like I am part of the reason for the comfort he feels. I feel like I am finally that strong, brave human, or at least that I am becoming that woman.
I know it sounds silly to some, but I haven’t felt worthy of that role. I now think I am. Thank you, my kitty-boy.
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