And it is NOT an unrelated soap-box at all, as the world is one big huge web of inter-related/ relational beings and structures; infinite in its capabilities, and limited only by our inabilities to understand the relationships….

However, your reflections on grieving are interesting–I for one would like to hear more about that. Grieving for the humans, and methods of coping.

Having died a few times in my own life, and having watched a prized pet ( a chicken killing, child munching blood thirsty great dane) put down grievously, I share your thoughts about using animals as surrogates to discuss our own emotional reactions to contemplations of death, but the human part, for me at least –sans animal makes for more interesting reading.

And I like your proverbial “Pain when shared lessens, and joy when shared increases.” My cat grave yard in the near-side woods during my youth was a testament to that, though it made me seem odd to my family and peers.

Maybe I’m just over it too…

I appreciate most of the comments. While I am not continuing to grieve for Toby, it is a good feeling to know that others have loved their pets and faced difficult choices in their care. I hope others feel some measure of comfort from what I wrote. The loss of a loved personality is always worthy of some measure of grief, and being the cause of that loss – thinking it out, following through, watching it happen – brings out complicated and deep feelings in the most human of us. Those properly cause us to reflect on our actions.

I do find it curious that for some it is a cue to stand up on their unrelated soapbox and harrangue the rest of us. I love my cats too. They have been a comfort, including at this time, though I would never remotely consider 35. That many cannot possible be properly cared for, and drowning kittens in a creek is barbaric. Perhaps it is your own sense of grief and responsibility, “real me”, that you are having trouble facing.

Yes, my cats do love the birds, which is why the extra-wide ledge sits just under the picture window with a great close view of the bird feeders. And when the cats start to suffer, like Queenie with cancer a few years back, they also go to the vet for that final nap, and I’m there with them, too.

I think Spider Robinson said it best, though I’m not sure he said it first. Pain when shared lessens, and joy when shared increases. Maybe that explains blogging.

It was a farmer–maybe Elwood or an Eldon, no: it was citified, country come lately, retired New York Italian Max who explained to me: “the cats kill the songbirds,” and th buterflies, and that was enough for me. Enough to remember my mom, bagging up litters o’ cute kitt-ays in burlap feed bags and taking them to the creek.

Get yer f#cking cats spayd and neutered folks. Sure, you might get fewer pity me parties thrown for you when some come-uppant cooz/cock notices how ‘caring, loving, and sensitive’ you are as you fondl your adopted non-spayd feral puss-is, but really, honestly, the world has no cat shortage, but inner-city bee-bee gun privileges are a threatened pastime.

I think it’s the last duty that we can do for a beloved friend when they’re suffering too much. I hope someone does it for me when my time comes.

I sympathize. My childhood dog, who unfortunately I don’t see as much as I should since the apartment doesn’t allow pets, who now lives with my parents, has an inoperable tumor and has an indeterminate amount of time to live. I’ve been trying to see and pet her when I can, and I’ve been listening to this quite a bit. I recommend it.

And one misses them, even though new ones come along. Pat and Schatze and Beau and Benito and Friskie and Lacey are still in my head. Now Sherlock and Watson play outside in the big run with the apple trees and chestnuts and viburnums in it, not knowing they’re playing with four-legged memories out there.