There is so much potential guilt to feel as a parent, and so many people and things willing to help you in triggering it. (My child isn't walking as soon as the other kids his age. Perhaps we should have shelled out the hundred bucks for the Baby Einstein CD/DVD development package or the intensive walking/baby yoga class that was offered at the gym last month?)
So much guilt, so little time to fit in all in.
But what if the object of your guilt as a parent is not in fact your children, but your beloved, genteel, lovable, cuddly cat?I'm not sure where my wife and I went wrong with Diego, but something has changed lately.
We adopted Diego from a Humane Society as a young kitten and he immediately warmed up to us, our friends, our enemies and just about anyone else who would give him a second of consideration. He was, in fact, so loving that the shelter folks named him Don Juan after the famous Latin lover. We renamed him Diego after the Mexican muralist and renowned lover of women, Diego Rivera. This name also fit because both the cat and the painter have been blessed with ample girth around the middle.The first few years of life together were blissful and tranquil. Diego would sit out on the fire escape of our second story apartment and sun himself while looking longingly over the fields and wooded areas of our small New Hampshire town. I would sometimes take him for a walk on a leash (yes they actually make them for cats) when the guilt would overtake me. This guilt, it has to be said, was mostly caused by my younger brother's animal rights inspired comment "there is no such thing as an indoor animal!"
So it was to Diego's great joy that when the family grew by two small children we moved into an old farmhouse with woods and open spaces galore.This is when the great change came about. Diego the lover became Ivan the Terrible to the local "critter" population. Gone was our fluffy bundle of love and in his place was the angel of death.Where did we go wrong? Was it the generic cat food? Was it the week that we were away? Was it the new baby?
A wise man I know recently said to me, concerning pets, that "It's ironic that we lavish so much attention and love on our pets when the fact is that if they were bigger than us they would eat us."I never would have believed that Diego, my lovable goof of a cat, was capable of hurting anything.
And then the snow melted.
This is Diego's first summer as a full fledged outdoor cat, and he has faithfully brought us a present every morning. But it isn't so much the volume of critters that's concerning us, as it is the variety. (And should I be worried that he's keeping track of his kills fighter pilot style with x's on the side of his food dish?) I thought that we had seen it all, what with the moles, mice, birds, frogs, chipmunks and snakes greeting us on the porch each morning.
But it has been the live creatures that have been most problematic and worrisome to us lately.
For instance, this week saw the delivery of a live chipmunk (which played out like a summer block buster movie in our house, complete with a breathless chase scene through the various rooms and ended with an amazing, Matrix style, slow motion, scoop-up-with-a-dustpan-flick-out-the-open-window- onto-the-lawn diving move by yours truly) and a live snake that was dropped onto my feet just yesterday as I was washing the dishes and listening to the new Bob Dylan album at top volume. (I was glad my wife and two daughters were not home to hear the man of the house let out a high pitched scream of terror.)
We are all hoping (both my family and the community of neighborhood creatures who are currently holding a rally on my front steps, complete with picket signs and a burning cat effigy) that the return of colder weather will temper the fire in Diego's blood, and return him to the formerly docile pet that we have known.
I guess we shall find out this coming winter. (Snakes hibernate, right?)
