What a beautiful piece of heartache . . .
Aug. 16th, 2008 12:53 pmI've been thinking lately about how sometimes love is hard; sometimes it hurts more and costs more to care. Sometimes love means making the hard decision when there are only two hard options.
A couple weeks ago, the sweetest little grey cat was crying for the attention of everyone who walked into my work. My heart melted, because I really am a cat person, and I would rescue every poor little stray in the world if I could. But he was gone by lunch. A few days later, he was back, and so I took this cat home and set him up in my bathroom. He followed me around the house, rubbing against my feet (which tickled), and was just so affectionate and sweet. I promptly named him Gandalf the Grey, and would have kept him if I could. But we already have two cats, and are soon to combine households with my grandmother, making it three cats, and my mother firmly said that we could not keep another cat.
I tried to find the cat a home, unsuccessfully, for two weeks. But then the poor cat got quite sick, and would just lay on the rug and attempt to purr, and after a day or two he wasn't eating, not even tuna water. I've never seen a cat refuse tuna water before. So then I'm stuck with the hard decision. Do I take the cat to the animal shelter, where he has almost no chance of getting adopted, or do I take the cat to the vet and perhaps only prolong the inevitable? We hadn't had anyone really interested in adopting Gandalf in two weeks, and people who adopt cats out of the paper generally want kittens instead of an adult cat, however well trained and sweet.
My mom took him to the animal shelter for me.
I was devastated. I know I made the right decision. I knew when I first took the cat home that I might just end up taking him to the shelter, and I chose to take him home fully conscious of that fact. I let myself fall in love with that scrawny little cat fully aware that I would have to give him up, one way or another.
Whoever dumped this cat, for he was much too affectionate and sweet to be a feral cat, refused to make the hard decision. They left him to starve, or be attacked by dogs or other cats, or to be hit by a car, because they could not deal with the near certainty of his death at the animal shelter. But rationally, it is a mercy, though a severe mercy, that I chose for the cat. I could not have let him continue to suffer at my house, and I certainly did not even think of leaving him on some street corner. But that doesn't make it easy.
Choosing to love or choosing to care often means that your heart will be broken because you have to make a hard decision, and there may be no easy way out, no last minute reprieve. But I say that it is better to love and break your heart, and it is better to love in the full knowledge that your heart will be broken, than to never love at all.
A couple weeks ago, the sweetest little grey cat was crying for the attention of everyone who walked into my work. My heart melted, because I really am a cat person, and I would rescue every poor little stray in the world if I could. But he was gone by lunch. A few days later, he was back, and so I took this cat home and set him up in my bathroom. He followed me around the house, rubbing against my feet (which tickled), and was just so affectionate and sweet. I promptly named him Gandalf the Grey, and would have kept him if I could. But we already have two cats, and are soon to combine households with my grandmother, making it three cats, and my mother firmly said that we could not keep another cat.
I tried to find the cat a home, unsuccessfully, for two weeks. But then the poor cat got quite sick, and would just lay on the rug and attempt to purr, and after a day or two he wasn't eating, not even tuna water. I've never seen a cat refuse tuna water before. So then I'm stuck with the hard decision. Do I take the cat to the animal shelter, where he has almost no chance of getting adopted, or do I take the cat to the vet and perhaps only prolong the inevitable? We hadn't had anyone really interested in adopting Gandalf in two weeks, and people who adopt cats out of the paper generally want kittens instead of an adult cat, however well trained and sweet.
My mom took him to the animal shelter for me.
I was devastated. I know I made the right decision. I knew when I first took the cat home that I might just end up taking him to the shelter, and I chose to take him home fully conscious of that fact. I let myself fall in love with that scrawny little cat fully aware that I would have to give him up, one way or another.
Whoever dumped this cat, for he was much too affectionate and sweet to be a feral cat, refused to make the hard decision. They left him to starve, or be attacked by dogs or other cats, or to be hit by a car, because they could not deal with the near certainty of his death at the animal shelter. But rationally, it is a mercy, though a severe mercy, that I chose for the cat. I could not have let him continue to suffer at my house, and I certainly did not even think of leaving him on some street corner. But that doesn't make it easy.
Choosing to love or choosing to care often means that your heart will be broken because you have to make a hard decision, and there may be no easy way out, no last minute reprieve. But I say that it is better to love and break your heart, and it is better to love in the full knowledge that your heart will be broken, than to never love at all.