Just past two in the morning, and I'm still up trying to get a miserable night behind me. I've been caring for some abandoned newborn kittens since Sunday, and that's something I know nothing about. I care for quite a few cats - tame house cats, semi-wild outside cats, and some feral cats that show up to be fed at night. I live just across the street from a city park, a place where irresponsible people dump unwanted animals. Some of those animals show up on my front porch from time to time, begging for food, cats mostly. I've found homes for several dogs abandoned in the park. The cats come and go, but I have some regulars that want to be fed every day. At my shop across town, a place where I keep some stuff and work on guitars occasionally, I have acquired about 15 cats to feed. Six of those cats are full time indoor cats, my pets, my work buddies. Lately, I've had several more cats inside (it's a fairly large place) on a temporary basis. One of those cats had kittens Sunday, and she refused to take care of them. I waited a day, hoping she'd start feeding them, but when she didn't, I took on the job.
I tried nursing the kittens there at the shop, which required me keeping them in a bedroom area away from the other cats. The second night after they were born, a kitten died. I held it the last hour of it's life because I firmly believe that nothing should die alone. Then I gathered up the kittens and brought them to my home. They did fine for a while on the replacement milk I bought from my attending veterinarian, but I'm clumsy at this sort of thing. My wife has helped out, but another of the kittens died earlier tonight . . . and the other two are fading and will probably not survive the night. And that makes me a very angry man - angry at myself for being lousy at this sort of thing, angry at the mama cat for abandoning them, angry in general because life does shitty things to us from time to time. Yeah, I'm having a night where I'm really pissed off . . . and a whole lot sad.
There's a weird parallel here between cats and people, I've noticed. I've been a college professor, a highly successful rodeo coach, an avid outdoorsman, an explorer and adventurer, a writer and all sorts of other things that I've been good at. But I'm an old man now, almost 73 years of age and trying to get along with a broken body. Too many years of abuse on this old fart, and it's probably a miracle that I'm still here. I'm pretty much bored with life these days, even to the point where I no longer fear death. At times, especially on nights like tonight, I'd welcome it. I've done everything in life that needs doing, did the best I could with it, and that's all behind me now. There's no real reason for me to be here anymore, except for the cats. Yeah, the cats. I didn't invite them, didn't go out and look for one as a pet, but they found me. All of a sudden some six or seven years ago, they started coming. I have a couple of dogs, have always loved dogs, but I've never been much of a cat person. But they came, and I accepted them, and along with that came the responsibility of taking care of them. My cat habit costs me around $500 a month for food, etc., and that doesn't count the vet bills. It's a big expense, and it takes up quite a few hours of my day . . . and it's a big job.
But guess what? I actually have a purpose in life. All of a sudden, I find myself running a cat sanctuary, a care facility. My home has turned into a zoo, and I have a nice house. Keeping it clean these days is a full time job. And I have that house across town, that shop, and there's more cats there. I'm a cat caretaker, a full time cat keeper . . . and I love it most of the time. On nights like tonight when I've got dying kittens or sick animals to look after, this newfound occupation isn't much fun. In fact, it's downright heartbreaking. Did you ever hold a dying kitten? Want something to rip your heart out, try that. And I'm no novice with death. I've been with a number of dying people, including my mother and my best friend. I've had to say goodbye to lots of people I loved, occasionally up close and personal. I've never been able to find much hope in death, but there is one benefit. It ends suffering. It ends the possibility of a miserable life that some animals would be destined to have. I don't hate death, and in fact often see it as a friend.
If you're wondering where I'm going with this, here it is: I know what this is all about. My time to die isn't all that far off, and I'm coming to terms with that. I'm not afraid. I've been too close to death to be afraid of it anymore. I'm gaining some valuable lessons from my cats, even from dying kittens. The time comes for all of us when death is a valuable ally. It is a killer, that's true, but it is also an end to suffering . . . and it is most surely not the worst thing that can happen to us.
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