Don't tell me about it

Moonlight serenade / Carly Simon










Like the season isn’t bad enough, why do people always want to tell me about their pet disasters? Don’t they realize I’m…impressionable? That I can be very…susceptible to things and have my own irrational fears about my pets?



Last night M. came home with this horrible story. A friend of his at work had recently gotten a cat. The family was bonding with it. And then, due to a odd accident the cat died.


“Oh no…I cried. What happened?” I suppose this is my own fault for asking. Surely something connected to that old adage about curiosity.


However, did M. say – you don’t want to know? Did he have the good sense to NOT tell me? To lie if he must? Nooooo.


“Well a mirror fell off the wall and killed the cat.” He announced unceremoniously as my eyes welled.


“Oh, no. no Don’t tell me.” I wailed and started to cry.


“It’s okay. All our pictures are hung very well. That won’t happen.”


Well that’s a consolation. I mean I’m glad of that fact, but it doesn’t take the images out of my mind or the instant reliving of pain at the lost of a loved one.


I am still haunted by our first cat’s death. She lived a ripe old age, died on our bed, with both of us with her. I think it might be the single most worst moment of my life. And by that point, she’d been sick for days, the end was near. She didn’t seem happy and she was hanging on. I was in agony. So much so, in fact, I had just said to M.


“We have to call the vet.” And oddly enough it was I who got up. I who made the call, made the appointment for 30 minutes later. When I went back to her, I kept telling her – it was okay, she should just die. She did before we had to leave for the appointment.


And with that I swore: never ever ever again. I did not want another animal in the house. I did not, could not, would not go through that again. I still get upset just thinking of it. So how did I get talked into two more cats? Something went afoul.


Thanksgiving we were in the kitty ER with Jack having some sort of a seizure. He seems fine now, but…really. And all I could think of was – I knew I didn’t want to do this. How could I let myself be in this position again?


Don’t tell me disasters, especially about cats.