Just A Cat
On Saturday, November 10, 2001, at 2:27 PM CST, the first cat
I ever owned died. Her name was Bacall, and she was my special
girl. She was the one who stole my heart and made it possible for
me to admit that I was capable of love. She was magnificent; she
was my gateway to a better self.
I have a great many friends and acquaintances in the animal
rights field, and have received a great amount of support from
them to help me during this time of loss. Even a few friends who
aren't animal lovers have expressed sympathy. And then there was
a co-worker of mine. I took the day off work when she died to be
with my wife while I grieved, telling my boss that the flu shot I
had received last week was making me ill. (It was close to the
truth.)
When I was asked why I looked so tired by this co-worker of
mine, I mentioned that I hadn't been sleeping well because my cat
died. She said to me, "Well, what's the problem? It was just a
cat."
"It was just a cat." That is the attitude that I have been
trying to change since I got involved with the animal rights
movement. The idea that the animal is disposable, and can be
tossed aside when it is no longer convenient for someone to take
care of it.
I first saw the results of that attitude first hand when I
worked for a shelter in the faces of the hundreds of dogs and
cats I personally had to euthanize because someone was no longer
going to take the responsibility to take care of an animal that,
when they took the animal into their home, they promised to care
for it for life.
I see it in the faces of the feral cats that I assist in feeding
in my yard and in the two colonies that we run here in the city.
The cats that were kicked out of their homes and allowed to breed
because an owner was not responsible enough to take the time to
have the animal spayed or neutered, thus increasing the problem
on the streets by having generations of cats - literally
thousands - breed from one mating pair and all their
offspring.
I saw it in the face of the driver who I stopped when he
intentionally ran over a cat trying to cross the street. His smug
superiority, and his blatant disregard for life, proved him to be
no better - and probably a great deal less - than the animal he
killed.
I know that there are good and caring people in the world,
people who genuinely are concerned for their neighbors, their
communities and the animals that are sharing this planet with us.
But on days like today, they seem so far and few between.
If you are reading this article, you probably have a dog or cat
or some other small animal that you call yours. You know its
name, its habits and its emotions. And it knows you as well as
you know it. And when that animal dies, it is only natural to
feel grief at its passing.
Bacall was not "just a cat." She was my friend. Like all close
relationships, it was similar to a marriage. She stuck by me in
good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. And when it
came time for her to die, I held her and let her know that I
loved her. And when she was gone, I cried for days.
But the time for crying is over now. It is time again to act,
and to remember the special bond I was able to share with her in
the nine short years she was my cat. And I hope that, when my
time to die comes, I can face it with the dignity and grace that
she showed me, and that if there is an afterlife, she will be
there to share it with me.
Now, it is time to act.
Read the essay Brian wrote about Bacall June 6, 2001. The Dangers of Reading the Newspaper
Brian Baker is a writer and animal rights proponent. He has been published locally and nationally, most notably in Chicken Soup for the Cat Lover's Soul. Currently, Baker spends his time working with a local organization (www.safehavenforpets.org) that not only operates a shelter for animals but also does extensive work with feral cats. To exchange correspondence with the author, write to brianpbaker@hotmail.com or bbaker563@aol.com
