The Human's Burden

The Human's Burden



I've never had any use for that nonsense about calling your pets your "babies." My pets have never been my babies, they've never been a replacement for children, they've never substituted for humans in my life, but they have been non-human roommates, friends, and even family. Sometimes they've even been my confidants when I was feeling down or shat on by life, not that they knew or cared they were being confided in (cats don't). But babies? No. Little irritates me more than someone referring to me as a pet's "father." That sort of anthropomorphization demeans both human and non-human.

But today my roommate, SweetThing died, or was euthanized as the euphemism goes, but the bald fact is I had her killed. And I cried and cried as I'm crying now. Human or not, baby or not, I loved her very much.

SweetThing began life as the runt of her litter, but despite her diminutive size and a funky hip that made her walk a like a sailor with a peg leg, she was gutsy, so I brought her home. She wasn't to be my cat, she was supposed to be my other cat's cat because the other cat, The Beast, was driving me insane. The Beast never liked her. She could barely tolerate her, and I already had a cat I was tremendously fond of, The Beast. But that tenacious little kitten did her best to make friends.

She didn't have an easy life with The Beast and I mostly ignoring her. And, like The Beast, she was part of my peregrinations around this country spending far more time on airplanes any animal should. Moving into more strange houses than any animal should. And all the while a second-class citizen.

Then, in 2002, The Beast's kidneys failed and I had her killed, and SweetThing began to blossom. No other word for it. She didn't change, she simply opened up. She had to go through one last plane trip when I moved back to Knoxville, but she spent that trip with me in the cabin instead of in cargo. She had to put up with two more house changes, but they were her houses from the beginning — she didn't have to overcome The Beast's ghost — and she thrived.

She turned 16 this spring and she was beginning to feel her age. Then a week ago she got sick and I thought her time had come. I considered taking her to the vet but she just seemed old and tired, worn out. She rallied a bit, but plateaued and today I took her to vet. They didn't have any appointments open but promised to get to her as soon as possible if I dropped her off and, because I had a cooking engagement I agreed.

The vet called at 3:00. SweetThing was extremely ill, she wasn't sure exactly what, but the choices she offered me were all bad. So I said… Well, I couldn't say anything. I refused to say "euthanize her" or "put her down" or "put her to sleep," that seemd like shirking my responsibility, but I couldn’t say "kill her," so the vet said "euthanize" for me as I choked on the tears. My old friend, my beloved roommate, my sweet thing, is gone. And I couldn't even be there to say goodbye because I had a job to do. At the end I failed her. Sometimes life really sucks.

I'll get over it. I don't know how many pets I've seen die, although I wasn't close to many of them. But humans simply live longer than most of our pets and so their death is an inevitable part of our relationship with them. It's the human's burden. She and I were buddies, but it wasn't the sort of deep sympathy The Beast and I shared. A different relationship, a differnt loss. But this time I don’t have SweetThing to help me get over it.

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