Hoping for Nine Golden Lives

I’m finishing up some final tasks on my laptop as I lie in bed. One of my cats is resting his head on my shoulder. This is a new thing for him, its about two weeks old or so.

My boys, as I call the two cats who have been my companions for the past four years, never cease to amaze and amuse me. As much as I complain about them being attention hogs, cuddle whores, and noisy creatures, I don’t know what I’d do without them.

The potential of losing them scares the shit out of me. It is one of those things I try not to contemplate because it just brings out a raw fear of the unknown. All things considered, it is highly likely that they’ll be with me for the next ten or more years, or tonight could be their last night with me. I just don’t know.

I’ve lost pets before, but in all those cases they were “family” pets, where I was one of many humans with the relationship with the pet.

In this case I am the consistent human in my cats’ lives. It is different somehow.

I had a friend who has an older cat who is suffering. She fears having to make the decision to put her cat down. I don’t even want to contemplate being in that position, let alone the decision itself. My advise to her:

Compassion is doing what is right for someone else, even when it doesn’t feel right for us.

I’ve been reexamining the golden rule, and trying to figure out if I live it daily. And I’ve discovered that I try to and want to, but it is harder than I thought to actually live it consistently.

Even with that said, I don’t envy the situation of the pet owner who is faced with the decision to end a pet’s suffering by ending his or her life.

It is hard to live the Golden Rule.