On Losing A Pet

Are you a ‘people’ person?  Yeah, so am I, or I’d like to think so anyways.  I like people.  I recognize kindred spirits.  I keep in touch with those. I like parties just fine.  But, I really…………really like it when it’s time to go home.

To my cat.

There are those that identify as ‘dog’ people…………they think cats are a waste of time because they’re too independent for them.  Some folks are ‘cat’ people.  They reap the reward of love and purring without having to care for a four legged creature that really………….is a toddler that is never going to grow up.

But, how lucky are we?

The lovers of people………….and dogs and cats!

Love is love anywhere we can find it.  We are loved in return and we know when we are feeling it….. there is nothing …………..nothing as powerful!

Why can’t it last forever?

Especially, the life and love of an animal.

I’m a ‘cat’ person.  I’ve owned and loved many of them.  Sometimes……..three at a time.  They have purred me to sleep.  They have given me something to talk to when my husband and children were all away.  They have noticed my sadness and tried to help in their own individual ways.

Oh, the personalities!  Each and every one so different!  There is no such thing as CAT……….. they are souls that live in little furry bodies for a dozen years.  Each and every one defined by different temperaments.  All full of love and gratitude.

I remember them all.  I remember their names.  I can shut my eyes and count their whiskers.  I laugh when I remember naughtiness and acts that reflected the iridescents of angel wings.

Do I roll my eyes when a friend puts on Facebook that they are grief stricken?  That the world has stopped for them today because they’ve had to put a furry friend to sleep…………forever?  They made a horribly hard choice………..to be benevolent…………to be parental…………..to make the right choice…………to be bereft…………to sob and finally……………to accept.

No , I do not.

I understand because I’ve been there.  I counsel that “time doesn’t heal………..but, time takes away some of the pain”.  Memories and photos have to be enough for a while.

But, the day will come.

Healing will happen.  And, another set of whiskers will speak to you.

And, again you will accept!  Because, the memory of your past love…………….will tell you…………..that no matter the sorrow that might come………………it is ALWAYS worth it.

 

 

 

Peeping Tom

Every house has a history.

I grew up in a small Cape Cod house in Connecticut.  The subdivision was carved out of many acres of woodland.  WWII was over and things had settled down.  Many returning soldiers like my father had taken advantage of the GI Bill and gotten a college education.

Daddy’s engineering degree landed my father and his new wife in Manchester, Ct.  My mother got a job at the jet engine factory also………….and, every one of her paychecks went into a special account.  That account was for a down payment on a house.

My parents had grown up during the Great Depression.  They had seen hardships.  And, then WWII had swept my father away for a few years.

Being able to buy a brand new house…………no matter how small………….was a dream they never thought they’d realize.  But, they did.

My father got on the back of a 4 wheeler with the builder.  He hung on and was shown a few building sites.  He picked one out at the bottom of the steep hill.  He was pretty good at imagining what that hill would look like with houses up and down it because he was an engineer.

My mother had to take his word for it.  Because, she wasn’t about to get on the back of any 4 wheeler and have to hold on to some strange man.

“I think I would have gone for the top of the hill.” she said years later.

She did get to pick out the floor plan of the house though.

I came along years later.  The house and neighborhood was established.  Yards were green.  Garages had been built.  Planted trees and bushes were starting to mature.  So, stories of bare houses on bare plots were kind of foreign to me.

The apple tree that I liked to climb?  The one I read books in while laying in it’s branches?

“That tree was nothing but a twig.  It was a housewarming present from your grand parents.” Daddy told me.

“Your uncle and I built that garage.  Boy, he worked hard.  Every weekend.  Wouldn’t let me pay him.  He said ‘After what you did for me?  I would take money?  Nah, keep me in nails and beer and I’ll be happy.’ ” Daddy reminisced one day.

I couldn’t picture the garage not being there.  It held my 8×12 foot dollhouse after all.  No garage?  No dollhouse?

“What did you do for Uncle?” I asked my father.

“I got him an interview at the factory.  He landed a job right away as a pipe fitter.  He left Auntie behind in Massachusetts and saved up money.  He slept on the floor upstairs for many months.  We were glad to help him out.  He didn’t owe me a thing.”  Daddy explained.

“Why did he have to sleep on the floor?” I wondered out loud.  There are two fine cozy bedrooms upstairs in the house that I knew.

“We bought this house with an unfinished second floor.  At the time………………when you were a baby……………..it was nothing but a staircase and insulation up there, Little Girl.  So at the top of the stairs we threw down a mattress and that’s where your uncle slept.” Daddy remembered.

“We had two bedrooms downstairs but your grandparents were in the second one.  They got jobs at the factory also.  They were saving up money to buy their little house in Glastonbury.” he said as he picked up an apple from the ground.

“Sounds like a full house, Daddy.” I laughed.  “Where was I sleeping?”

“We hadn’t thought you up yet.” Daddy laughed back.

I thought about it.  All made sense.  I remembered helping Daddy when he put in the hardwood floors upstairs.  The paneling for the walls.  The built in dressers under the eaves.  I had handed him every nail.  I remember being his “helper girl”.

My mother had her own stories about the house being so new.

She remembered the day when she heard a familiar ‘Yoo Hoo!’ at the property line.  A friend from the apartment complex they had lived in had bought the house next door. That woman had always driven my mother a little nuts.

“I was depressed for a week.” my mother admitted.  “But, then I just decided to love her.”

Yes, that’s the way my mother handled things…………….she just decided to love her.

“I was a big walker back then.” Mom explained some more.  She had to be………….she never did get a license.  “The grammar school was built right before your brother needed it.  I used to walk him to school and then cut across to the grocery store.  We could walk to church if we had to.  We did good picking out this house………..even though I couldn’t picture it when it was nothing but woods.  We did real good.”

“Imagine this house.  All bare!  I bought brand new furniture.  I picked out rugs and curtains.  That vase on the mantle.  I filled up the linen closet with new towels and sheets.  New pots and pans and dishes.  Everything was new all at once.” she sighed a happy sigh.

“We planted trees and bushes.  Tulip bulbs.  I transplanted perennials that my mother gave me.  Those irises in the back yard came from her.” Mom smiled as she remembered.

“I especially loved going through all the catalogs and picking out curtains.  That took me quite a while.  I kept changing my mind.  They were old fashioned………….but I settled on lace crisscross curtains for all the windows.  That’s the Irish in me, I suppose.  They fit perfectly. ” she said.

“The houses are close together.  Your father said that I forgot something.  We needed shades or blinds in those windows.  I told him not on your life!  That will totally ruin the looks of my lace curtains.  Ugly pull down shades in that picture window?  The picture window that I paid extra for?  Not on your life, buddy!” she remembered with vigor.

I looked over at the picture window.  The one she had paid extra for.  The one with an ugly pull down shade behind the lace curtains.  I looked at the little shutters on the small windows either side of the fireplace.

“Well, something changed your mind.” I deducted.

She threw her head back and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I wondered.

“I didn’t want shades……………but, then there was the Peeping Tom.  I ordered them from the Sears catalog the next day.” she said as she went to answer the phone.

She kept me hanging.  I hate interrupted stories…………………….

Mom hung up the phone.

“Peel six potatoes for dinner, please.” Mom said as she started searching the refrigerator for ingredients for her meatloaf.  I miss her meatloaf.

“But, you were about to tell me about the Peeping Tom!” I exclaimed not knowing exactly what a Tom peeping was.

“After you peel those potatoes.” my mother countered with.  She knew how much I hated peeling potatoes.

I plunked the bare potatoes into a pan of water.  I turned on the burner.

Then, Mom put on a show.

She went into the bathroom and put a plastic shower cap on her head.  She wrapped a big towel around herself.

“Picture it!” she said and she came out into the hallway.  The hallway that was directly across from the picture window.

The towel wasn’t quite big enough to go all the way around her.  She sauntered two feet and lost control of the towel.  The towel hit the floor.  Mom mimed being shocked by putting her hands up to her supposedly burning cheeks.  She picked up the towel and tried to wrap it’s insufficient length around her again.

She stared at the picture window.  She shrieked.

She yelled “Go the hell home!” at the window and ran for her bedroom.

This made me laugh like hell because my mother was a fine storyteller………..she was a fine actress.

“Who was looking in the window……………….who caught you naked, Mom?” I asked when I stopped snorting.

“The little boy that lived across the street.  Instead of banging on the door and seeing if your brother could come out to play……………….he just peered in the window.  Scared the hell out of me.” she said as she folded the towel up again.

She took the shower cap off her head.

“Scared the hell out of him too, I suppose.” she added.