Overcoming Past Pet Peeves: Part 2
Undoing the damage of past pet ownership
In part 1, I focused on the dogs from my early childhood but I cannot leave out the cats…lots and lots of cats! I came to call my mom the “cat lady” over the years. While she liked dogs I believe she was pretty partial to cats.
When we moved into the first house, a fine-looking male tabby cat started to hang around outside. My step-father was pretty convinced he hated cats. Then, little by little this loving boy started to win him over. After a few weeks, we gave him a name and decided he was our farm cat. Elmer mostly lived outside at first but my mom’s soft heart brought him in occasionally.
I do not recall how we acquired my cat, Molly. She was a little gray fluff-ball of sweetness. Eventually, Molly and Elmer had relations and she was pregnant with her first litter of kittens. I will never forget how on my first day of 5th grade, I awoke to Molly laying next to me on the bed, making lots of funny noises. I wasn’t sure what was going on until I saw a leg sticking out of her privates. Uhm…“MOM!! Molly is having her kittens in my bed, help!” The poor thing was so tiny I don’t know how she survived that uneasy labor but she did. She was so proud of her babies!!
Molly and Elmer had another couple of litters together. Back then spaying and neutering wasn’t as popular as it is today; regardless, my mom had no understanding of the importance of it for their long-term health. My memories of the cats are not as vivid as they should be. I do remember that Elmer eventually contracted feline leukemia and my mom, again, refused to do anything, instead, let us watch him suffer terribly until he finally died. It was absolutely horrible to witness. I remember crying a lot and wondering why they allowed his suffering.
Molly also died pretty young, probably from birthing too many litters. Then her babies began to breed. We ended up with some bizarre behaving cats, one had two different colored eyes. Then, because the cats we had weren’t enough, my mom rescued 2 male cats. I’m not sure what had happened to these beautiful American Longhair boys but they were scared to death upon arrival. We named them Big Kitty (all gray) and Lucifer (all black). They quickly took to me and decided I was their person.
During my high school years, we took another dog. Thankfully, it seemed the ‘rents had learned their lesson about keeping dogs outside. Amber was given to us by my stepfather’s boss. She was a beautiful, well-trained, 5-year-old Golden Retriever that was mine (guilt I guess). She lived inside with all of the cats; Amber was actually pretty tolerant of them, and they loved her. (I wish I had photos of her.)
Fast-forwarding several years past a divorce and my mom moving around a bit while I was away for my first year of college…
Something happened to Amber while I was away. She was now 9 or 10 years old and Goldens don’t normally make it to 12. But I believe the stress of all the moving, being away from me, and just not getting much attention, caused her to have a stroke. When I came home for the summer, she was different. My mom refused to take her to the vet so I asked around and tried to find information (this was in 1993 so pre-Google/internet availability).
Our lives were kinda chaotic (I neglected to state I have a half-sister who is 12 years my junior) and my mom toted all of these animals around from place to place. We lived with my grandparents for a while. During that time, Amber had a sad and tragic demise. My grandparents had their own pets so they forced us to keep Amber in the basement or outside. The basement was no place for a dog: it was cold, damp, and the stairwell very steep. At night I was haunted by hearing Amber climbing up, then falling down, the steps.
One morning I went down to get her and my poor girl had died. I was so angry with my mother and my grandfather but at the same time relieved that my beautiful dog was no longer suffering.
Soon afterward my mom decided to move to Florida. She packed the cats into a huge crate (she probably had 8 at that time), along with what belongings of hers and my sisters she decided to take. upon arrival, she discovered the condo she rented didn’t allow pets. So, these poor traumatized cats (except Big Kitty and Lucifer who were at my apartment) were loaded back into the van my great-grandparents drove us all in down to Florida, and they had to be responsible for them once back in Ohio.
I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing but the crate fell in their driveway, opened up, and the cats jumped out and ran away.
Due to my own situation, I eventually had to give up my beautiful cats. I was devastated and they were very confused. I saw it in their little faces. The pair was so attached to me, they tried to follow me. My heart was absolutely broken. I was so ashamed of having to give them up that I could not bear to own a pet for years and years afterward.