Cat gone home

There’s nothing I like better than to climb into bed with a good book, surrounded by my beagle and two cats.

But my bed will be emptier tonight. I had to say good-bye to my cat Frances this morning. I noticed something amiss only last week. Tests showed there was something wrong with her liver. She took a turn for the worse overnight and no amount of doctoring would have saved her. I was with her when she died, but I'll always remember her more like she is in this photo: healthy, alert and looking for trouble.

What is it about these creatures that binds us to them so tightly? We can’t communicate with them except superficially. Their life spans are so short as to guarantee us heartache. By those who don’t share our affection, pets are seen as poor substitutes for human children and we are often looked on with pity for not knowing that.

Why do they wrap our hearts around their little paws? “Unconditional love” is the standard answer. But as I thought about what made me love Frances so much – her feistiness, her energy, her curiosity, her love of the outdoors, her willingness to tussle with her feline sister – it reminded me a little of myself.

While they do love unconditionally, pets do so much more: They remind us of our capacity to love, even when they scatter litter across the room or dig holes in the backyard or cough up hairballs on our beds. They show us that love is not so much about what we get as what we share. They remind us of who we are – imperfect, mistake-prone and at times willful – but able to love and be loved, nonetheless.

All you animal lovers out there give your furry kids an extra treat from me today, OK?