I picked up my cat’s ashes last Friday. As I waited to pay, all the "kids" at the front desk kept eyeballing me, eyeballing the box of ashes on the counter, eyeballing me. I think they expected to witness a meltdown. I’m a veteran though. I’ve been through the drill before, which isn’t to say, I didn’t sob about it earlier in the week or won’t sob about it again. I miss the daily presence of my cat in my home. He was part of our family for over 14 years. I still miss Ruby, the Black Lab we lost over three years ago.
I don’t judge people for making the choice to not have pets. Just as I don’t judge people for making the choice to not have children. That being said, I know I’ve been judged for loving and grieving the loss of my pets. I know I’ve been viewed as The Crazy Cat or The Crazy Dog Lady. I spent hundreds on medical care related to our cat, Ben. (I spent thousands, yes thousands, trying to save our Ruby.) I don’t have children, so I can’t say what I would or wouldn’t do to save a pet if I did.
Then again, should love have a hierarchy?
I don’t think so. And I’m glad I’ve reached the point where I don’t give a shit if people think I'm The Crazy Cat or The Crazy Dog Lady. I refuse to feel bad about giving my heart to anyone: feline, canine or human. Nobody is going to convince me the price tag I put on love is too high.
|RIP, Ben. (I don't know why "they" put your name in quotes.)|