Confessions of a former pet-lover

I'm ready to talk about this. I grew up loving cats. All I wanted was a cat. I cried for cats and envisioned the day when, free of my father's allergies, I would have a home literally crawling with felines. Then I grew up. Then I had children. I am no longer a cat person.

As childless newlyweds, my husband and I acquired a cat. As full-time employees with long commutes, we acquired a second cat to keep the first company. I can admit, with not too much guilt, that I've never been particularly fond of our behemoth cat Tibby. Yes, she was cute as a kitten (they all are). But as she grew, and grew, and grew, she developed some annoying, though tolerable habits. Yes, it was fun to watch her play fetch like a dog. She's not a bright cat--which was often humorous as well. But, when I was pregnant, bloated, uncomfortable and just wanted to be left alone, she just wanted to sit on me. The "must be in constant physical contact" with me thing continued and continued. Wherever I would sit, I'd suddenly find a paw on my shoulder. Cute huh? Unless it's you. She also liked to whine for any and no particular reason--incessantly.

We've gone through 8 years of this. After I had children, my caregiver bank was completely maxed out. I had nothing left for felines. I wish someone had explained this to me years before in explicit terms like YOU DO NOT REALLY WANT TO GET A PET. YOU WILL BE UNABLE TO EMOTIONALLY AND PHYSICALLY CARE FOR THIS PET ONCE YOU HAVE CHILDREN. NO ONE ELSE WILL CARE FOR THE PET BUT YOU, SO YOU WILL GROW TO RESENT THIS PET.

The only person with a somewhat remotely beneficial relationship with this cat was my husband. The cat loved me, I despised the cat. The boys loved the cat and she despised them. The cat tolerated my husband almost to the point of affection, and he tolerated her almost tothe point of affection. Yet none of this was so intolerable as to get rid of her. Until she began peeing on my rugs.

A line was crossed. I am not a cruel and heartless person (depending on who you ask). I took this kitten in and cared for her for 8 years, annoying habits and all. But, there is an invisible line drawn in the sand at peeing in inappropriate locations. For me anyway.

For others, there may not be such a line. Look it up online. You will find hundreds of suggestions and tips for retraining a cat who has strayed from his litterbox. And while your patiently redirecting his behavior by playing calming background music, and being oh so careful not to give kitty a complex by telling him he is bad, your rug is being pee-ed into oblivion. I don't have that kind of patience.

I tried, I really did. A friend suggested she may have a bladder infection (because the first thing I do when I get a UTI is pee on the floor). They were right. I spent $200 to diagnos and treat a kitty UTI (here kitty kitty, pee in this cup). Then I was told that I would now have to feed her exclusively $50 per bag special bladder health food. Um, you are aware this is a cat, right? I tried again. But, when she began to pee and poop on the carpet this time, not just the rugs, my secondary, back-up line was crossed into oblivion. Kitty spent several days between a pet carrier and my bathroom awaiting long discussions of my heartles cruelty and painful phone calls to no-kill shelters:

How old is she?

Eight.

No one really wants an 8-year-old cat with litterbox problems.

No kidding.

Have you tried playing calming music near the litterbox? . . .

So, I gave up. I threw in the towel. I even sprung for the expensive pet-hospital euthanization rather than dropping her at the shelter, just so I'd feel better about it. And no, I don't want to watch, nor keep the ashes.

The funniest thing about it all (I can laugh about it now) was that when I hauled this cat to the pet hospital for her last rights, I was a mess. I cried--quite a bit--for a cat I never really liked. Here's how it went down.

I steele myself and get my emotions all in check, drop the boys off with dad (it's okay mom if Tibby has to die--she used to scratch me anyway). I drive to the hospital, haul the cat inside and wait. and wait. Everybody and their dog was there. Loving pet owners, crooning over their sick animal. I was hoping the waiting room would clear out before I stepped up to the counter and stated Please kill my cat. Close, but not entirely. By the time I got up there, there was just one lady in the room, standing at the counter next to me with her lap dog.

Can I help you?

Yes, I need to have my cat seen.

What is the problem?

Well, I just need to have her, um euthanized (my voice quavers unexplicably).

Okay, here's a box of tissues. I'll get the paperwork.

And I started crying. The lapdog lady next to me puts her arm around me and says

I had to do the same thing last week.

I turn around with the paper work and a box of tissues and suddenly the room is full again. People leaning over to sneak peaks at the terminally ill cat in my carrier, wondering if she's contagious. I dunno, does mispeeing spread?

Did you want to keep the ashes?

Um, no thank you?

Do you want to watch?

What, are you nuts?--Not unless I have to

Okay, we'll bring the carrier back in a couple of minutes.

The room began closing in on me. I grabbed some tissues and stepped outside. After a couple of minutes the vet brought me my carrier and left with some final words:

Be careful driving alright?

Thanks. sniff.

And that was that. I went home and poured a whole box of deoderizer on the carpet, cleaned my bathroom and felt much better. I think of her every now and again and wonder if I did right by her, or if I'll have to some how do penance in the afterlife. I've also thought quite a bit about the meaning of the term "stewardship" and if I've been a good steward. I suppose it's all in who you ask.

I wish someone had said something to me before we got the fish. Oh, and the hermit crab.