Losing Your Love, For Awhile

IT HAS BEEN SAID that when your cat dies, there is a hole in your heart, and in your life the shape of a cat. This, I can verify, as can millions of other cat loving human beings, I would venture to guess. My beloved male Siamese cat, named Shylow, who at the age of six and a half had never been more seriously ill than a day or two of appetite loss, lost his appetite, and, after a day or two of no food intake, I became alarmed, and took him to the vet. The vet recommend admitting him to an emergency animal hospital, which I did, and within twelve hours he was dead. I believe the cause of death was organ failure, liver failure, but no autopsy was performed, since it seemed, well, too late. This all happened less than two weeks ago, and my grief is so great that it is only with a spontaneous burst of momentary courage that I can bring myself to write, type, and publish this. The love of my life is gone, and the fact that everyone I encounter understands perfectly how I feel and sympathizes completely alleviates my pain only modestly. It happened before. There are two cats buried in my yard, and may eventually be many more on what is now sacred ground, ground upon which I am not allowed to tread. Shylow, who had left home for a few weeks then returned to me because he loves me on two separate occasions, was cremated, and his ashes now reside on my fireplace. Later I may bury them next to my other precious ones. One thing is for certain; he will never leave me again. I seem to recall that it is estimated that there are as many as eighty million pet cats in America, and as many as forty million stray cats. The stray cats are probably not lonely and forlorn as we humans tend to think; we project ourselves into animals, but only because we love them. I only associate with stray cats. I currently have seven, yes, seven, living in my garage, two mothers and five kittens. The mothers are sisters, beautiful pure white, and one of them looks somewhat like Shylow, so I named her "Pseudo", the pseudo Shylow. Their kittens are adorable, all different colors and markings, snuggling each night in the cold weather on the electric blanket on the mattress I provided for them, in their heated cat beds. On many a cold night they actually forsake the electric blanket and sleep instead in the large, convoluted cat tree I got for them, a monstrosity which stands nine feet tall and has so many rooms and cubby holes that they can explore and hide to their heart's content. That tells me that they don't get as cold in cold weather as we tend to think, being well adorned with a fur coat. Only one of them lets me touch her or hold her, but that makes up for the timidity of all the others, who, gradually, are becoming more comfortable around me. I would instantly have them in the house, but the two cats in my house (there were three, the one who died was an in house cat) simply would not permit it. Over and over again I tell people about the Harvard sociology survey in which people were asked which they preferred, humans, or dogs and cats, and well over a third of the population answered that they preferred dogs and cats to people. Everyone I mention this to seems to think that this percentage is a low estimate, and everyone claims to be among the dog and cat preferers. It may well be that everyone on the planet prefers dogs and cats to people, and that those who won't admit it are keeping it as a deep, dark secret, ashamed for some reason to reveal their true allegiance. Everyone seems to agree that dogs and cats give love unconditionally, while people do not. This of courses is not true: pets give love only when well treated, and good treatment is, after all, a condition. I think there is a hole in my heart for every pet I have ever had, including the ones dead for decades. I think every human on the planet feels the same way. I also believe that the very existence of such beautiful, lovely creatures is living proof of the greatness and everlasting love of our creator, and that we will always be with our dearly beloved departed pets for eternity, in someplace we may as well call "heaven". I believe all this for one simple reason; that here is a hole in my heart and in my life the shape of a cat, and always will be.