This is Diva, the Siamese, and Oberon, the Norwegian Forest Cat, who were my first two pets I had as a (mostly almost) adult person. In fact, I acquired companionship of these two just slightly before I came out. They lived with me in nearly a dozen apartments, four states, a couple of relationships, three college degrees and the first decade of my marriage to Darrick. They were my constant companions, furry little confessors, crying attendants and many days, they were the only beings on the planet I wanted to interact with. They kept me grounded and responsible at times when the *last* thing I wanted to do was adult; when I could barely take care of myself – I had to pull myself together enough every single day to feed them, take care of their litter box, give them love and attention and brushings and playtime. The very first time I brought Darrick home, they *both* wanted to be in his lap, something neither of them were apt to do with anyone, especially Oberon. I was so very lucky to have them both live past the age of 20.
Diva was the first one to leave. I loved both cats, of course, but she was extra special. Clingy, vocal, particular, demanding and always had to tell me about her day. Her kidneys failed, and we had the experience of several weeks of expensive cat food she didn’t want to eat, and weekly saline subcutaneous injections, leaving an odd and awkward lump at the scruff of her neck. Darrick was a huge help, holding her and comforting her while she *loudly* complained about the indignity of her situation. Finally, one day, she could not make it up the stairs and it was time to do what all pet owners dread, and bring her to the vet to ease her passing. I held her, and Darrick held me while the vet put her to sleep and to this day, I cannot talk about this or write about it without crying. It felt too soon, even though she was nearly 21.
At the end of his life, Oberon had gone stone deaf, and this gave him a measure of peace and tranquility that his ordinarily skittish personality had not allowed previously. The couple of years he had without Diva were peaceful as well, as her demanding, even bullying of him stopped. He could sit in whatever chair he wanted, undisturbed. He grew more and more frail, ate less and less, and though there was no specific thing we could identify wrong with him, the morning came when he did not want to get out of his box to even get his breakfast. Darrick was away on a trip and had said goodbye to him several days earlier. By this time, we had made it to Chicago. The vet there said that Oberon had lived twice, reaching 22 years of age. By myself, I held him as he closed his eyes for the last time. As with Diva, I cannot write about this without tearing up.
Oberon left us in November of that year, and we went through a miserably quiet Christmas with no cats – the first time I had not had pets in half a lifetime. The house was empty and Darrick and I knew that we simply did not like being petless. Fortunately, the shelters are full of furry friends just waiting for a new home, and in the spring, we brought Merlin and Morgana home to live with us. It’s now been a decade of adventures with these two, who are now 13 years old and beginning to slow down.
Grief is a funny thing. The immediate, sharp pain of the loss does fade over time. We get new pets, and without judgement or jealousy or any concern at all move into our lives and our hearts. But here I am, a decade later, contemplating the lives of the previous two cats I shared my life and house with, in tears. And, you know what? That’s ok. The love and companionship I have with Merlin and Morgana does not diminish in any way the time I had with Diva and Oberon. Crying over pet friends lost years ago is simply evidence of the absolute, unconditional love they have for us. My hope is always that we get past our human embarrassment about grief, and allow ourselves to feel what we feel when we feel it. It is, after all, what makes us human. So, give your pets a hug. Cry for the ones who have left. Don’t wait too long to open your home to a new furry friend when the time comes – there are too many who need us to help them. – The Rev. Dr. James J. Olson, Weymouth, MA
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