Pets will break your heart....

In front of the stove....
He loved to be outside.....
with Auntie Kristie and Chelsea.....
napping with Mommy......
sitting in his widow, keeping watch....

I have the dubious task of letting you all know that this afternoon at about 2:30, we put our beloved cat Thomas P. Goldsmith to sleep. To say that we'll miss him would be the understatement of the year for us; for us he was more than a cat....he was an absolute part of the family. Its funny when you think about it--this relationship we have with our animals. So many people question how anyone can ever get attached to a cat; pop culture tells us dogs are the affectionate beings, and cats just basically use you for food....and thats it. But Thomas was different. Anyone who spent any time with him knows he was more like an actual person than an animal--incessantly purring, always jumping up to sit on your lap, demanding whatever "people food" you are eating, although his wet cat food is mere feet away. From a personal standpoint, Thomas was my "roommate" for a couple of years after I graduated college, and before Amanda and I got married. Those were some difficult times: I hated my job, I hated my apartment, and I hated my life. Yet, every day, Thomas was there to jump up on my lap after a crappy day at a crappy New Hampshire school.

I am not one to outwardly express my less than happy emotions; to see me crying is somewhat of an anomaly. But boy did that change today. What is it about these pets that makes them so gut wrenching to lose? First of all, I think it is the fact that I had to actively and deliberately bring him to the vet's, sign a consent form, and physically walk away from him, leaving him in the vets hands to soon be euthanized. I feel solely responsible for ending his life because, after all, it was my decision. But I think what it is about animals that makes them so apt to break your heart is the fact that they cannot speak; they can't communicate with you on an interpersonal level. Thus, we "invent" moods for them to "be," and we imagine them thinking thoughts and playing roles that suit our purposes. This language barrier allows us to think the animals are "saying" whatever we want to them to say--and they never disagree with us, and they almost never talk back. Its crazy but its true.

Losing a pet is like stopping a fantasy....or ending a dream. I've found myself, already, no less than 4 times, "looking" for Thomas around the house this afternoon, wondering where he's sleeping, hoping he's not getting into any mischief. I feel stupid every time I realize he's not actually there--and never will be again. How is it that this 7 pound animal (he had lost a lot of weight from his illness) can make a 240 pound one cry like a baby?

We'll probably get another cat, but not right now. Its too soon. We need to try to "mourn" Thomas, if you will, for a while. The final straw, says the vet, was in fact a type of lymphoma--metastasizing around his kidneys. He just wasnt himself--he hadnt eaten in four days, he peed anywhere he needed to (his bladder was HUGE), he drooled a stinky liquid, he couldnt jump up on the bed, couch, or chair, and he couldnt even support his own head upright as he sat. Even standing, which he did not very often, was difficult for him--he was always shaky, and even fell down a couple of times. Dr. Walsh, the vet, told us we had the opportunity to hold him while he administered a tranquilizing drug, and then injected him with the overdose that would kill him. But we declined (I say "we" because Amanda was insistent on coming with me to the vet). Instead, we gave him a simple kiss on his small little head, and walked out of the room--not even looking back. It was heartbreaking.

No longer will anyone sit right beside me as I eat, getting on both hind legs to try and steal my food. No longer will a small orange cat sit by the breezeway door, meowing ad nauseum to be let outside--only so he can bask in the sunshine, and eat grass that will eventually make him sick. And no longer will Thomas lay apathetically in front of the cranking wood stove, on a cold winter night, dreaming of whatever it is that these pets we have dream of.....

But he'll live in our memories forever. Thank you Thomas.