Long Post... Getting Things Out
Two days ago I found out that my father got rid of one of the most important emotional attachments I had. After having his wife send me one email about calling him over a month ago asking for me to call because they hadn't heard from me in a while, my father assumed that because I didn't call right away, it was okay to give my cat to an animal shelter. Clearly, because I didn't call back to that obviously dire message, I didn't think my cat was that important (I have the message still, if anyone is interested in just how 'dire' this message sounds [in case you didn't notice, there was sarcasm in that]). He could just give him away. After all, he swore that he told me when my cat first got there that if he was too rough with their cat they were going to give him away. I'll get into the minor issue I have with that statement later, for right now, I want to explain how I feel about my pets so that it is understood by all reading this just how important animals are to me.
Anyone who knows me understands that I end up getting pretty attached to my animals; they're like family to me. Just small and furry family members. I cheat on their diets and feed them the food that I eat, I mean, after all, if I can eat it why can't they? They are part of the family. Every single animal that I've ever grown attached to I have taken under my wing and made my own. I have washed cats in the tub with me (I swear that they jumped in of their own accord), shared peanut butter spoons with ferrets, ate bean sprouts with our old rabbit, let snakes get tangled in my hair (and during the Ice Storm of '98, even let a snake curl up under my shirt so we could keep each other warm), slept with kittens and cats and let dogs almost push me off my very own bed. I've even been known to pick up lost, injured, or wandering animals that I find outside. Two good examples of this are a run-over pigeon (who happened to only have his wing run over and a very high fever), and a mouse I found in a friends trash can. I'll take anything in as long as I'm able to, and even then I'm not against smuggling creatures in until they are healed and ready to go back into the wild.
Sure, you could call me your regular ol' animal activist, but the point I'm getting at here is that animals are creatures that I tend to bond with easily and have a hard time parting with. It was no different with my cat Beethoven.
When he first came to us, Beethoven was nothing more than an arrogant, and stressed, ass. Occasionally he would bat at the other cats to prove that he was worth something and to try and get himself a spot in the house hierarchy, but for the most part, he would hide away under beds, chairs, the couch and anything else that he could squeeze his lanky form under and stare at us all silently. The first time I saw him, I saw his white butt sailing over a pile of laundry, tail swinging like a white flag before he disappeared under the table and behind a bin. The other cats scattered around him and then came out slowly to inspect the newcomer, and I was smitten. A white cat? An all white cat? Oh-ho... that cat was mine. I knew right off that he would be mine, and it set into motion my determined actions to make him realize this.
Unfortunately, I already had another cat who I had managed to bring back from being anti-social to being loving and needy to the point of almost being annoying. Screech. He was adorable with long gray fur and a streak of white dropping from his jaw to flare out on his chest and two white socks on his feet. I'm not entirely sure how he got his name, but he was a lovely little cat and apparently very possessive. In my attempts to make Beethoven mine, I started a war between the two cats that I fancied the most. Beethoven, sensing a safe haven in my room would often saunter in and yowl at me (and yowl he would, since he's deaf and couldn't hear himself and so yowled all the louder for it). Screech would be lounging over the top of the mattress that was being stored upright against my wall and would whip his head around when he saw Beethoven walk in. Not even a second after the new intruder finished his demanding yowl, Screech would fly from the top of the mattress and land on the much bigger cat, laying out his territory with a hiss. This would start one of many epic battles.
It didn't take Screech long to realize that he was overwhelmed by Beethoven's fighting skill, and so he sought to outline his territory in a way that was more daring... and started spraying all my things, and only my things, with his scent. Naturally, this wasn't taken well. I fought for the little gray cat until I couldn't fight for him anymore, and had to bring him to an animal shelter. I still remember how his claws dug into my sweater as he refused to let go, and how I cried all the way home. I still miss the little bastard Screech (it was hard to forget him when he pissed all over my bags and room), but Beethoven soon quickly filled the gap that Screech had left.
Almost instantly after his rival was gone, the deaf white cat relaxed and became my dog. Loyally following me around as I went about my daily duties, I acquired perhaps one of the best friends that I could ever ask for. While he wasn't the most cuddly creature in the world (couldn't stand to be held more than 5 seconds, then 10 seconds and finally 15 seconds at a time), he was the most friendly and the most attention needy and would let me do almost anything to him. I can't count the times I was able to flop down on top of the cat and he'd just sit there and purr at me. He'd sleep stretched out all along my leg, and by all along my leg I mean he really did. His front paws would be stretched up to my hips, and his toes would line with my feet and he'd lay there and purr and purr and purr until I fell asleep. He was the only companion I had that I wasn't embarrassed to cry in front of, and I can't count the number of times that I ended up clinging to him while he purred and just sobbed into his fur. He never seemed to mind and if he did pull away, he would always come back up to me a few seconds later and butt his head against mine as if to say, "It'll be alright, don't worry..."
When I was gone for more than a weekend (the usual amount of time that I was gone), he would sit in front of the door and yowl in the middle of the night. He would look for me all over the house. But he learned, quickly, that I wasn't gone forever. And once he knew how long I was going to be gone for, he would be content to wait for me until then; but as soon as it was time for me to come back home, he'd be waiting right by the door again for me. Twining himself around my legs and purring up a storm. He was my cat. He was my baby. I had such a strong connection with him that one of my silliest dreams was to get my own studio apartment and live there with just me and my cat. Him and me, me and him. We didn't need anyone else. Because we had each other.
Well, after I went to college, there were problems at home. I won't get into them, but during my Junior year, the first semester, I was wrenched back and forth between being told that my cat would have to be taken away, would have to live somewhere else, would have to go to a shelter, unless I could find a place for him because my mother no longer had room for him. Because they had too many cats. So I phoned around, I asked and I pleaded and I begged and offered people money for food or litter or whatever else they needed just if they would take him in until I could have my own home. No one could take him, so I turned to my last resort. I asked my father if he would take in my cat.
I thought he saw how stressed I was, and how upset I was that I might not see my cat again because of something as simple as not having the room for my cat; and he told me that he would take in my cat. He promised me after I made him promise that he wouldn't get rid of my cat. It was just until I got my own home, after all. I just needed him to have his own home until I could take him for myself. I thought that was understood, and I was wrong.
What makes this more difficult is the troubles that I've had with my father in the past. I never actually had gotten along with him until I started arguing with my mother. Then, suddenly, I found new allegiances. I thought I had found the side of my family that I had lost. The sensible side. The side that would have solid fact and who would be there when I needed that kind of support. I thought I had found my father and I started to rely on him more. I was ecstatic at the thought of mending the broken bridge that was between him and I. I thought that with my cat there things would lay out more smoothly. He was proving to me that he wasn't who I thought he was; a person who didn't know how to understand how his daughter was feeling. And he seemed to be trying to listen to me when I talked about my mother and tried to work out the knot of feelings on what was going on there. I felt that I had a safe haven for both me and what was precious to me and I fully trusted that I would see my cat again.
After forcing my cat on the harrowing journey to North Carolina from Maine (six hours to Bennington and then 14 to North Carolina), I only had one week of vacation with him before I left again for college. I felt terrible and cried at one point because I felt so bad for leaving him there, and for a second I doubted that I was doing the right thing. But of course I was. My father had guaranteed that he would take care of my cat for me. He was safe. I was just being emotional.
As much as it hurt to tear myself away and leave him there, I had to do it and went back to school; fully intending to go back during Spring Break to ensure that my cat realized that yes, indeed, I was coming back. I put my thoughts on that and drove through college intent on that one image. But things fell through, and I wasn't able to go to North Carolina. I was devastated, but again reassured myself that he would be fine and went on with college, and then summer. I hadn't stopped thinking about my cat though, and how excited I was that I was going to get him back. Or at least see him and reassure him and hug him and cuddle him and love him. He was, and is, after all, my baby.
I got an email on August 20th from Laura, my father's wife, basically just asking me to call because they hadn't heard from me in a while. And to give her an update. I was heading off to school in a few days and needed to pack and get things ready, so the email slipped my mind. Also, as most people know, I have no phone. So I can't call people willy nilly whenever I feel like it. Well, I finally remembered that I needed to call my father (and set up how I was going to get to North Carolina for Thanksgiving Break) this past Friday.
Got on the phone, said a few pleasantries only to have him say, "I have some bad news about your cat."
"What happened to my cat?" [You can imagine the protective and wary growl that was in my voice at this point.]
"Well... we had to give him to an animal shelter--"
Here I stopped listening because I was shocked and furious and upset and I started crying. I had been so excited to see my cat and remind him how much I loved him. I had already felt like SHIT for leaving him in North Carolina after only visiting for a week, and now I was faced with the possibility of never seeing him again. I was devastated. In the middle of the cafeteria, I dissolved into tears. My dad was on the other line while I asked him over and over again why on earth did he give my cat away.
"He was being too rough with Tigress [their cat]... we sent you an email about it but you never called... we waited for a call... kept him as long as we could... animal shelter about a month ago..."
"WHY didn't you tell me in the email it was important?"
"The last time something seemed important you got mad at us for scaring you."
"This is my CAT we're talking about! Of COURSE he was important! Why didn't you send more than one email?"
"ONE email should be MORE than enough."
"No, no dad, it's not."
The conversation went on like this until I couldn't take it anymore and just asked if I could call him back later, the next day more than likely. He said okay.
"Please don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad right now dad, just very very sad. Very very sad."
Well I'm mad now, as you can imagine. But I'll get into that later. I'll also add more to THIS later in a second journal. Right now, I need to go to lunch.
Anyone who knows me understands that I end up getting pretty attached to my animals; they're like family to me. Just small and furry family members. I cheat on their diets and feed them the food that I eat, I mean, after all, if I can eat it why can't they? They are part of the family. Every single animal that I've ever grown attached to I have taken under my wing and made my own. I have washed cats in the tub with me (I swear that they jumped in of their own accord), shared peanut butter spoons with ferrets, ate bean sprouts with our old rabbit, let snakes get tangled in my hair (and during the Ice Storm of '98, even let a snake curl up under my shirt so we could keep each other warm), slept with kittens and cats and let dogs almost push me off my very own bed. I've even been known to pick up lost, injured, or wandering animals that I find outside. Two good examples of this are a run-over pigeon (who happened to only have his wing run over and a very high fever), and a mouse I found in a friends trash can. I'll take anything in as long as I'm able to, and even then I'm not against smuggling creatures in until they are healed and ready to go back into the wild.
Sure, you could call me your regular ol' animal activist, but the point I'm getting at here is that animals are creatures that I tend to bond with easily and have a hard time parting with. It was no different with my cat Beethoven.
When he first came to us, Beethoven was nothing more than an arrogant, and stressed, ass. Occasionally he would bat at the other cats to prove that he was worth something and to try and get himself a spot in the house hierarchy, but for the most part, he would hide away under beds, chairs, the couch and anything else that he could squeeze his lanky form under and stare at us all silently. The first time I saw him, I saw his white butt sailing over a pile of laundry, tail swinging like a white flag before he disappeared under the table and behind a bin. The other cats scattered around him and then came out slowly to inspect the newcomer, and I was smitten. A white cat? An all white cat? Oh-ho... that cat was mine. I knew right off that he would be mine, and it set into motion my determined actions to make him realize this.
Unfortunately, I already had another cat who I had managed to bring back from being anti-social to being loving and needy to the point of almost being annoying. Screech. He was adorable with long gray fur and a streak of white dropping from his jaw to flare out on his chest and two white socks on his feet. I'm not entirely sure how he got his name, but he was a lovely little cat and apparently very possessive. In my attempts to make Beethoven mine, I started a war between the two cats that I fancied the most. Beethoven, sensing a safe haven in my room would often saunter in and yowl at me (and yowl he would, since he's deaf and couldn't hear himself and so yowled all the louder for it). Screech would be lounging over the top of the mattress that was being stored upright against my wall and would whip his head around when he saw Beethoven walk in. Not even a second after the new intruder finished his demanding yowl, Screech would fly from the top of the mattress and land on the much bigger cat, laying out his territory with a hiss. This would start one of many epic battles.
It didn't take Screech long to realize that he was overwhelmed by Beethoven's fighting skill, and so he sought to outline his territory in a way that was more daring... and started spraying all my things, and only my things, with his scent. Naturally, this wasn't taken well. I fought for the little gray cat until I couldn't fight for him anymore, and had to bring him to an animal shelter. I still remember how his claws dug into my sweater as he refused to let go, and how I cried all the way home. I still miss the little bastard Screech (it was hard to forget him when he pissed all over my bags and room), but Beethoven soon quickly filled the gap that Screech had left.
Almost instantly after his rival was gone, the deaf white cat relaxed and became my dog. Loyally following me around as I went about my daily duties, I acquired perhaps one of the best friends that I could ever ask for. While he wasn't the most cuddly creature in the world (couldn't stand to be held more than 5 seconds, then 10 seconds and finally 15 seconds at a time), he was the most friendly and the most attention needy and would let me do almost anything to him. I can't count the times I was able to flop down on top of the cat and he'd just sit there and purr at me. He'd sleep stretched out all along my leg, and by all along my leg I mean he really did. His front paws would be stretched up to my hips, and his toes would line with my feet and he'd lay there and purr and purr and purr until I fell asleep. He was the only companion I had that I wasn't embarrassed to cry in front of, and I can't count the number of times that I ended up clinging to him while he purred and just sobbed into his fur. He never seemed to mind and if he did pull away, he would always come back up to me a few seconds later and butt his head against mine as if to say, "It'll be alright, don't worry..."
When I was gone for more than a weekend (the usual amount of time that I was gone), he would sit in front of the door and yowl in the middle of the night. He would look for me all over the house. But he learned, quickly, that I wasn't gone forever. And once he knew how long I was going to be gone for, he would be content to wait for me until then; but as soon as it was time for me to come back home, he'd be waiting right by the door again for me. Twining himself around my legs and purring up a storm. He was my cat. He was my baby. I had such a strong connection with him that one of my silliest dreams was to get my own studio apartment and live there with just me and my cat. Him and me, me and him. We didn't need anyone else. Because we had each other.
Well, after I went to college, there were problems at home. I won't get into them, but during my Junior year, the first semester, I was wrenched back and forth between being told that my cat would have to be taken away, would have to live somewhere else, would have to go to a shelter, unless I could find a place for him because my mother no longer had room for him. Because they had too many cats. So I phoned around, I asked and I pleaded and I begged and offered people money for food or litter or whatever else they needed just if they would take him in until I could have my own home. No one could take him, so I turned to my last resort. I asked my father if he would take in my cat.
I thought he saw how stressed I was, and how upset I was that I might not see my cat again because of something as simple as not having the room for my cat; and he told me that he would take in my cat. He promised me after I made him promise that he wouldn't get rid of my cat. It was just until I got my own home, after all. I just needed him to have his own home until I could take him for myself. I thought that was understood, and I was wrong.
What makes this more difficult is the troubles that I've had with my father in the past. I never actually had gotten along with him until I started arguing with my mother. Then, suddenly, I found new allegiances. I thought I had found the side of my family that I had lost. The sensible side. The side that would have solid fact and who would be there when I needed that kind of support. I thought I had found my father and I started to rely on him more. I was ecstatic at the thought of mending the broken bridge that was between him and I. I thought that with my cat there things would lay out more smoothly. He was proving to me that he wasn't who I thought he was; a person who didn't know how to understand how his daughter was feeling. And he seemed to be trying to listen to me when I talked about my mother and tried to work out the knot of feelings on what was going on there. I felt that I had a safe haven for both me and what was precious to me and I fully trusted that I would see my cat again.
After forcing my cat on the harrowing journey to North Carolina from Maine (six hours to Bennington and then 14 to North Carolina), I only had one week of vacation with him before I left again for college. I felt terrible and cried at one point because I felt so bad for leaving him there, and for a second I doubted that I was doing the right thing. But of course I was. My father had guaranteed that he would take care of my cat for me. He was safe. I was just being emotional.
As much as it hurt to tear myself away and leave him there, I had to do it and went back to school; fully intending to go back during Spring Break to ensure that my cat realized that yes, indeed, I was coming back. I put my thoughts on that and drove through college intent on that one image. But things fell through, and I wasn't able to go to North Carolina. I was devastated, but again reassured myself that he would be fine and went on with college, and then summer. I hadn't stopped thinking about my cat though, and how excited I was that I was going to get him back. Or at least see him and reassure him and hug him and cuddle him and love him. He was, and is, after all, my baby.
I got an email on August 20th from Laura, my father's wife, basically just asking me to call because they hadn't heard from me in a while. And to give her an update. I was heading off to school in a few days and needed to pack and get things ready, so the email slipped my mind. Also, as most people know, I have no phone. So I can't call people willy nilly whenever I feel like it. Well, I finally remembered that I needed to call my father (and set up how I was going to get to North Carolina for Thanksgiving Break) this past Friday.
Got on the phone, said a few pleasantries only to have him say, "I have some bad news about your cat."
"What happened to my cat?" [You can imagine the protective and wary growl that was in my voice at this point.]
"Well... we had to give him to an animal shelter--"
Here I stopped listening because I was shocked and furious and upset and I started crying. I had been so excited to see my cat and remind him how much I loved him. I had already felt like SHIT for leaving him in North Carolina after only visiting for a week, and now I was faced with the possibility of never seeing him again. I was devastated. In the middle of the cafeteria, I dissolved into tears. My dad was on the other line while I asked him over and over again why on earth did he give my cat away.
"He was being too rough with Tigress [their cat]... we sent you an email about it but you never called... we waited for a call... kept him as long as we could... animal shelter about a month ago..."
"WHY didn't you tell me in the email it was important?"
"The last time something seemed important you got mad at us for scaring you."
"This is my CAT we're talking about! Of COURSE he was important! Why didn't you send more than one email?"
"ONE email should be MORE than enough."
"No, no dad, it's not."
The conversation went on like this until I couldn't take it anymore and just asked if I could call him back later, the next day more than likely. He said okay.
"Please don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad right now dad, just very very sad. Very very sad."
Well I'm mad now, as you can imagine. But I'll get into that later. I'll also add more to THIS later in a second journal. Right now, I need to go to lunch.