Is it just me, or do our pets make all of us miserable? I ask because my cat spent last night outdoors, and I got up three times during the night, groping my way down the stairs and out to the back door, to see if he had returned. He had not. Then I woke up at 5:20 this morning and expected to see him meowing for breakfast, but he wasn't around. Still isn't. Is he lost, dead, trapped? Hit by a car, eaten by a predator, shot by a hunter? You see those signs on telephone poles all the time: Cat missing, very friendly, please call. I could go on, but it's too neurotic.
My neighbor, a single woman exactly my age, bought an adorable puppy about a year ago. She was replacing her two ancient dogs, both of whom had to be euthanized within months of one another, so naturally she was excited the day she brought the new little guy home. Since then, her life has been what one might charitably describe as a Living Hell. Bailey was cute at first, but he grew and grew and grew--in fact he got to be much larger than is typical for his breed. I see her walking him morning, noon and night, and often in-between, in rain and snow and heat of day. He is enthusiastic to a fault, and when he jumps up to greet you, which he does with abandon, he's as tall as the average human. He spends his indoor time living in a huge crate in the kitchen. I would go on, but it's too depressing.
Years ago, a friend of mine had a cat she adored. Spike was a huge Maine Coon, and I sort of had a crush on him--he had a great personality, and was also very handsome and considerate. Anyway, Spike spent his time roaming the nearby woods, but always came home at night. Until he didn't. So Nancy went looking for him, and ultimately she found him---hanging from a fence, his collar caught on one of the pickets. Dead. I would go on, but it's too gruesome.
Once we had a pug named Tank. He was too adorable for words. He had an ear infection that would not clear up with antibiotics, so our vet suggested we flush it out with water. "We'll just put him under for about seven minutes with a light sedative, and then it's gone," Dr. Wilson said. That sounds easy enough, I thought. Except Tank never woke up. He was five. His ashes are in a box on our bookshelf.
Even fish are a drag. Last summer a flash of lightning took out the residents of our koi pond, of whom we had grown quite fond. They had names and everything. They didn't die right away, but the next morning we found them bloated and floating, really and most sincerely dead.
Now Lurch is out there somewhere, and I find I can't do much besides walk around outside and call his name. This is bad, as I'm in the middle of painting our bedroom and was hoping to have the job done by the time my husband gets home from a business trip tonight.
I hate those "missing" signs.
My neighbor, a single woman exactly my age, bought an adorable puppy about a year ago. She was replacing her two ancient dogs, both of whom had to be euthanized within months of one another, so naturally she was excited the day she brought the new little guy home. Since then, her life has been what one might charitably describe as a Living Hell. Bailey was cute at first, but he grew and grew and grew--in fact he got to be much larger than is typical for his breed. I see her walking him morning, noon and night, and often in-between, in rain and snow and heat of day. He is enthusiastic to a fault, and when he jumps up to greet you, which he does with abandon, he's as tall as the average human. He spends his indoor time living in a huge crate in the kitchen. I would go on, but it's too depressing.Years ago, a friend of mine had a cat she adored. Spike was a huge Maine Coon, and I sort of had a crush on him--he had a great personality, and was also very handsome and considerate. Anyway, Spike spent his time roaming the nearby woods, but always came home at night. Until he didn't. So Nancy went looking for him, and ultimately she found him---hanging from a fence, his collar caught on one of the pickets. Dead. I would go on, but it's too gruesome.
Once we had a pug named Tank. He was too adorable for words. He had an ear infection that would not clear up with antibiotics, so our vet suggested we flush it out with water. "We'll just put him under for about seven minutes with a light sedative, and then it's gone," Dr. Wilson said. That sounds easy enough, I thought. Except Tank never woke up. He was five. His ashes are in a box on our bookshelf.
Even fish are a drag. Last summer a flash of lightning took out the residents of our koi pond, of whom we had grown quite fond. They had names and everything. They didn't die right away, but the next morning we found them bloated and floating, really and most sincerely dead.
Now Lurch is out there somewhere, and I find I can't do much besides walk around outside and call his name. This is bad, as I'm in the middle of painting our bedroom and was hoping to have the job done by the time my husband gets home from a business trip tonight.
I hate those "missing" signs.
I worry about my cats going out as well. Art says I should trust them, that he has them trained. hah! there is no such thing as a trained cat. and I am hoping that Lurch is back by the time I call you. this is very upsetting.
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