I wish people would care as much about their children as I do about my pets.
I never even planned to get attached to Spotty. I already had one cat and had no interest in getting another. However, I agreed to hold on to her took her for one of my clients because he was not permitted to have pets while in foster care. That was 2002.
So even though I know that child will come back for her, I do feel in someway I made a promise to a child that I can't keep. I aide a promise to Spotty that I have already broken. So I guess this is goodbye again. And the only thing worse than saying goodbye, is having to no idea what will happen to her. Omg... this is almost too painful to write.
It has been months since I posted the first "ad?" trying to find a home for Spotty. I thought for sure somebody, anybody, would be willing to hold onto to her for a couple of months.
Yest here we are 4 months later, and I have to live with the fact that I am now "that" person. The person who abandons their own children, or leaves an animal behind when the move. I am "that" person.
I have already done the research. There are very few"low kill" shelters in Tennessee. The fact that they even classify them as "low" kill makes me want to throw up. But that's the reality.
I really hate this world.
No one gives a shit about the kids who are already here living in poverty, foster homes, on the streets, or anyway the can to survive. So who gives a shit about a few people who at least have the luxury of a quick painless death rather than having it drained out of them day by day; tear by tear, year after year after year after year.
I don't want to get rid of Spotty. I don't want her euthanized when I feel her little head nuzzled against my neck. She is not sick, she is not, her only crime is belonging to me. What the fuck with this world. we can through puppies into plastic bags and freeze them to death because it is "easier" than "putting them to sleep."
So yeah, there you have it. I fucked up again. How ironic that the one thing I don't have is the only thing people seem to want from me. I can't wait to hear about this one. I am 36 years old. I am not a child. I am not a criminal. I am not cruel. I have no answers for you. I do not have the resources that most people take for granted.
Why must they take the one thing I love-- the one thing that loves me. Does it make it all better for everybody else? dad, I learned my lesson. I have accepted the hand I have been dealt.
I'm not stupid, and I know that I can't blame my mom for this one since I'll be the one to drive her to the shelter tomorrow.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
If I say I'm sorry, would that make it okay for me to keep Spotty? Will someone please tell me what I need to say because I'm not sure what I did.
I'm old enough to know that nobody is coming to save me. I don't even brother to ask but why must an innocent animal who did not ask for this be the ultimate punishment for a sin I don't remember committing.
So where does Spotty go? To the farm with Abby & Ollie during divorce number two and custody battle number 4? Will my father mail me some fake ashes out of the fire place. Will my mommy drive her out to Suffolk County so she can use an assumed name like "Harrison" so I can't locate her? At least I found Pepe. I can only hope that one day I'll find Spotty.
Special message to two "special" people: Mom, I hope some takes Ziggy from you. The same way you took Pepe to that shelter in Suffolk County during the darkest moment of my life. I remember what you said, and what you were told by 3 separate mental health professionals. In fact, they remember too, because they found the your actions to be so far beyond the scope of rational behavior, they documented the entire thing. In fact, once Pepe was located, they kept a copy of the "adoption papers" in my medical records both as a precaution and as relevant family history.
Well, whatever. I can't think of anything care enough about to lose-- so enjoy. You win. I surrender. Whatever. I guess you'll tell what I'm supposed to do because that worked so well with my last Landlord.
Why can't I just live a life without empathy? I guess if you don't love anything but yourself, you will never know grief.
Well now I'm really fucked, because I'm not all fond of myself these days. Don't worry, you don't need to call parents, they already know, and they couldn't care less. In fact they'll probably bill you for wasting there time. Besides, unless you went Harvard, Yale or Princeton they don't give a shit what you think. So join the club.
Just remember this: Spotty didn't chose me. I chose her. So here we go again... because apparently there is not a single person I know who is willing to save Spotty.
Actually, that sounds about right. I know exactly how she feels.
Pepe's Final Gift: The Gift of GoodbyeSent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Many years back I had the most vivid nightmare, that 16 years later I can still remember the details of my worst nightmare:
I am standing in a sea of unfamiliar faces. There is violence everywhere. Red. Broken. Bleeding.
I am holding Pepe, and he is broken. Bleeding. Clinging to me, clinging to life. I rush through the crowd looking for safety. There is no way out. Just angry faces in a sea of violence.
In the distance, I see two police officers. I run to them believing they will help me find a way out of the madness. Believing they will bring me to safety. A safe haven. Shelter from the storm. Free from the madness. Free from the violence. Free from this sea of unfamiliar faces so I can get my bleeding, broken, suffering friend the help he needs to make him well. The help we need to be whole again.
When I reach the podium, the men were facing the crowd. They were standing there, backs to me; they just stood there to face to the crowd banging their black, wooden night sticks while on just standing there Beating their night sticks against their palms. I call out but no one listens. No one can hear me above the roar of the crowd. So I tap them on the shoulder, holding Pepe close to my heart— hoping they will instinctively see the love and fear in his yellow gold eyes. Of course, they would rescue us. Yes, they would rescue us and bring us to safety. Free from the violence, free from the madness. Free from this hell and take us somewhere safe. Somewhere far, far away from here. And then they turn. In unison, they turn around to face me, and I look at them. I am horrified. I am horrified because these are not police officers at all. They are clowns. Literally, figuratively, in every way they are simply clowns. Clowns in uniform. In unison. In unanimity. Inhumanity. My worst nightmare. The cops were clowns.
Pepe was “only” a cat, but I made him a promise that I intended to keep. I would give him everything I longed for: keep him safe, keep him fed, make him well, I would give him love. Lots and lots of love. Unconditional love. Always. Until the day my perfect little angel would return to heaven. And I did. And he did. And we did. Alone, together, Pepe gave me strength when I was too weak to care for myself. He could not talk, but he sure tried!
After seventeen years, Pepe died the other day, and my worst nightmare did not come true. I loved him until the very end. Even then he gave me the most perfect and fitting gift. He gave me freedom. He gave me comfort. He gave me hope and he gave me peace.
I know that I can love. I am capable of complete, total, unconditional love. He was like a child. Pure, innocent and completely, totally, unconditionally loved. Yes, I am capable of love. I am capable of complete, total, and unconditional love. Pepe, my precious angel, may you rest in peace… There is a better place for you now. There always was.