Once upon a time, many years ago, I had five cats. This was not by design. They simply showed up and I saw no reason to turn them away. There was plenty of room in my home, I lived alone, and we all got along quite nicely. They were so young that I never gave a moment’s thought to how long any of us might live. Mortality is like that when you’re young: you navigate life thinking that old age and death will never touch you. But eventually, of course, they do. The last surviving cat from that original gang of five is now nineteen years old. Not only do I now have to think about mortality, I have to think about what comes after that last cat dies.
The hubs has said, many times, “I’ll be glad when there are no more animals!”
WTH??? No more animals? What planet is he living on?! There will always be more animals! It’s who I am. It’s what my life is about.
But all these years later, I have to give at least passing thought to the idea that my next cat(s) might outlive me: I’m not a spring chicken anymore. How much longer can I realistically keep bringing pets home? It’s something I’ve been giving a great deal of thought to lately. I reached out to my friend and fellow critter-writer Bob Tarte, asking what his thoughts were about aging owners of pets. At the peak of his critter-owning, Bob and his wife, Linda, had over 50 animals! At one time! Over the years, there was a natural thinning of the herd, and as someone who is becoming aware of her own mortality, I wondered whether Bob could imagine a time when they wouldn’t have any more animals. Bob said that when all the birds are gone (ducks and parrots), they won’t get more, though he did think that they would always have a cat or two. When pressed, Bob admitted that life would feel weird when the many daily chores were no longer required.
I can certainly understand that. So much of my daily routine, over the years, revolved around dealing with the needs of all my animals. But much of that routine was so long ago, now, that I struggle to recall it: all the mornings I drove to the village pond to feed the abandoned domestic ducks; the trips to the feed store to buy more corn; the attention that had to be spread around five cats, all of whom wanted pieces of my time each day; the Saturdays volunteering at the horse rescue facility – there was always something going on that required my time.
While there are less physical requirements, these days, the emotional ones are just as rigorous: Bit the horse still wants as much of my time as he can get. Buddy, the cat with dementia, forgets that I just gave him attention five minutes ago, and begins yowling for more minutes after I walk away. And Munster the dog is always in need of exercise and mental stimulation. I don’t mind all the demands – they are what makes my life satisfying and interesting. I just worry, these days, about how much longer I’ll get to enjoy this particular aspect of my life. I don’t ever want to get to a point where I’m too old to have pets, or too infirm. I want to go on being The Critter Lady for the rest of my life.
But as I watch my 87 year-old mother live out the end of her life, the future frankly frightens me. Gone are the days when my mother had control over simple things such as maintaining her balance, driving safely, having decent vision and reflexes, et al. And I’m sure that most people on the planet – myself included – have issued the silent prayer, “Please don’t let me end up like that!”
All this mid-life-crisis thinking has my head spinning. The more I think about the future, the more clearly I see that animals will always be a part of my life, whether the hubs is on board with it or not. Animals make me who I am. They’re what give my life meaning and purpose. I’ll just need to make sure I have someone in the wings who would be willing to take over their care, should the need arise. We should all have such a back-up plan for our pets.
