Sunday night thoughts

Well, my plans to get some more stuff up on my blog have been a bit hampered these last few days. First, our cat, smokey, died. She was 17 years old, having been born the day we arrived here in Iowa City. Her mother, PhuPhu, had yowled loudly in the back of the car as we did the three day, cross country U-Haul thing, and was extremely put out about things (not surprisingly - I'm pretty certain she kept her legs crossed the whole way, being unwilling to give birth in the car out of some unknowable feline directive). Tensho (our dog at the time) and I were quite happy to be in the U-Haul for the trip - it was old, rickety, slow, but at least relatively quiet (if you ignored our singing - well OK, mostly mine, but Tensho did contribute a time or two).

This was not how I had intended to start the blog, but these things happen. One of the many things which have drawn me to blogging are phenomena like catblogging. I had hoped, in due course, to do a little of my own, but it was not to be (leastways, not until another cat appears in our lives, which will likely be some time). I can, and no doubt will, still do some dogblogging.

Anyway, I was struck by some of my own personal observations in regard to Smokey's death, and how it impacted my. These are offered, perhaps somewhat strangely, in the context of the death of Terry Schiavo. I hope people will not think linking a pet's death with the death of Ms. Schiavo as being in any way disrespectful. It is not intended to be so.

Of course, others have written at length about the heartwrenching case of Ms. Schiavo (see, for example, Hugh Hewitt). My own thoughts are much more personal, but I hope they might bring something to the conversation. We have had four pets die on us. Two (Tensho and Mitzi, Smokey's sister) we had to have put down. Two (Smokey, and Aristotle, a St. Bernard) died naturally at home. Smokey passed away fairly peacefully in the late evening. She had been a little tired the few days previously, and was wandering around the computer room, rubbing up against legs as was her habit, when she gave a yowl, and fell over (leastways, she was on her side when I got to her in response to her yowl). She did not seem in any pain, so I simply stroked her and spoke calmly to her while she died. Within five minutes of that yowl, she was peacefully dead. Aristotle died in the night about three years ago, again with little noise or fuss (getting his body to the vets for cremation was another thing, very noisy and lots of fuss, but that is a story for another day). In both cases, I missed the pets a great deal, but felt very much at peace about their passing.

The same was not true with either Tensho or Mitzi. We decided, with both, to take them to the vets and have them put to sleep because they were no longer able to move themselves and were clearly in great distress. In both cases, I was a total basket case. I was crying so badly with Tensho that they would not let me leave through the waiting room! This made me wonder what was different between these four cases. It was not that I loved Tensho and Mitzi more than Smokey and Aristotle, or any less, either. Rather I think it was the unnatural termination of their lives (even though this was the correct thing to do - one of the most serious responsibilities of owning a pet is helping them find peace at the end of their lives). Is part of the issue with Ms. Schiavo that her life was ended unnaturally? And what is an unnatural ending? I wish I had answers that I could confidently and cogently argue (I have answers, but I suspect my answers are based more on emotion than on reason at present). If there is one blessing which can be drawn from this horrible case, perhaps it is that we need to discuss these end of life issues, and what it means to be a living person whose life should not be terminated. Further, what is an unnatural ending of life?