Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

Abstract

at nuzzles up to me, I am put in mind of James Herriot, the Yorkshire vet and author, who stated that:“I have felt cats rubbing their faces against mine and touching my cheek with claws carefully sheathed. These things, to me, are expressions of love.”Our second cat took a particular shine to our youngest son, who was ten at the time. This cat would sit in my son’s lap as he watched TV and my son would tug at his fur as he purred contentedly.Things were delightful for nine months, and I was beginning to think that my mother’s reticence about enduring the pain of pet-love was misplaced. One morning, though, our second cat vomited and went off his food for several days. I brought him to the vet and they took some bloods.For three days we waited nervously as the cat continued to decline. The phone went and the vet soothingly said that we had a problem. Our second cat had FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis).“What does that mean?” I asked plaintively.“The kindest thing is to put him to sleep,” the vet said simply.The family was devastated. It was one week before our second cat’s first birthday. The stark fact was, through no fault of ours, he hadn’t made it a year.The family gathered round. The vet administered the injection. Our second cat vocalised with a little yelp, and that was that.It hit our youngest son, in particular, very hard. He cried himself to sleep for several nights.<p id="b029"

Options

I was reminded of the (rather trite) saying that no-one can truly understand the bond we form with the cats we love until they experience the loss of one.Initially, I empathised with my mother’s sentiments and wondered was she right — the pain of loss was too much to bear and not worth the candle?Eventually, though, we got over it. My bond with our first cat strengthened yet further, and we acquired a replacement Siberian who loves our first cat much more than our deceased cat did. So, one could argue that everything turned out as it should.Ultimately, the death of our second cat served as a poignant reminder that our time with our feline friends is short and we should savour every moment. If we didn’t love them, we would be monsters. The fact they love us back is a testament to the strength of the bond between us.There are those who say that cats are incapable of loving unconditionally. But I know that to be untrue. Every morning, for ten minutes each day, my first cat does just that. He slinks his body along my arm, he rubs his chin against my fingers, he purrs and clucks, and he doesn’t want anything except to love me and be loved back.In that moment every morning, the prospective pain is contextualised. Of course it’s certainly worth it. But that doesn’t stop me dreading the inevitable day we must part company for a while and mouthing the old unattributed quote:“Heaven will never be paradise unless my cats are there waiting for me.”</article></body>

Why I Dare to Adore my Cats

The pain of love is writ large when our feline friends die. It’s a wonder, then, we fall for them at all.

There is an unattributed saying that “all you need is love and a cat.”

I came late to that equation. We had dogs when I was growing up. I always remember my mother crying when our miniature wirehaired Dachshund passed on. I comforted her by saying that we could get another dog; but she countered that she couldn’t stand the pain when they died, so she would never get another.

We brought two beautiful Siberian kittens into our life in 2016. On the first morning, when I came down to the kitchen to see what they were up to, one of them made a beeline for me and clucked and purred his way into my arms. I have always been amazed he did that: presumably the most stressful night of his life and he dared to love me immediately.

At that moment an unbreakable bond was created that is exercised every morning to this day. Each morning this cat, our first cat, nuzzles up to me and loves me unconditionally for ten minutes before we go downstairs. It’s a daily ritual that I couldn’t do without.

It’s amazing how gentle cats can be when they have a mind. It’s obvious that, if they chose, they could savage you with their claws and teeth. Every time my cat nuzzles up to me, I am put in mind of James Herriot, the Yorkshire vet and author, who stated that:

“I have felt cats rubbing their faces against mine and touching my cheek with claws carefully sheathed. These things, to me, are expressions of love.”

Our second cat took a particular shine to our youngest son, who was ten at the time. This cat would sit in my son’s lap as he watched TV and my son would tug at his fur as he purred contentedly.

Things were delightful for nine months, and I was beginning to think that my mother’s reticence about enduring the pain of pet-love was misplaced. One morning, though, our second cat vomited and went off his food for several days. I brought him to the vet and they took some bloods.

For three days we waited nervously as the cat continued to decline. The phone went and the vet soothingly said that we had a problem. Our second cat had FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis).

“What does that mean?” I asked plaintively.

“The kindest thing is to put him to sleep,” the vet said simply.

The family was devastated. It was one week before our second cat’s first birthday. The stark fact was, through no fault of ours, he hadn’t made it a year.

The family gathered round. The vet administered the injection. Our second cat vocalised with a little yelp, and that was that.

It hit our youngest son, in particular, very hard. He cried himself to sleep for several nights.

I was reminded of the (rather trite) saying that no-one can truly understand the bond we form with the cats we love until they experience the loss of one.

Initially, I empathised with my mother’s sentiments and wondered was she right — the pain of loss was too much to bear and not worth the candle?

Eventually, though, we got over it. My bond with our first cat strengthened yet further, and we acquired a replacement Siberian who loves our first cat much more than our deceased cat did. So, one could argue that everything turned out as it should.

Ultimately, the death of our second cat served as a poignant reminder that our time with our feline friends is short and we should savour every moment. If we didn’t love them, we would be monsters. The fact they love us back is a testament to the strength of the bond between us.

There are those who say that cats are incapable of loving unconditionally. But I know that to be untrue. Every morning, for ten minutes each day, my first cat does just that. He slinks his body along my arm, he rubs his chin against my fingers, he purrs and clucks, and he doesn’t want anything except to love me and be loved back.

In that moment every morning, the prospective pain is contextualised. Of course it’s certainly worth it. But that doesn’t stop me dreading the inevitable day we must part company for a while and mouthing the old unattributed quote:

“Heaven will never be paradise unless my cats are there waiting for me.”