Of cats and kids, and big decisions

Nightmare, or in this pic,
Kitty Dirty Paws

I don't have children - this is largely intentional. I'm not convinced I'd have been a good parent, given my own troubled youth and lack of good parenting models, nor did the option ever really present itself. I honestly can't remember if I wanted to have children. And my clock just didn't tick.

Many women grow up with this path in mind, and if not in mind, certainly in body. They know this is their destiny, and their bodies (or circumstances) tell them when it's time. Other than Barbie and a baby doll when I was very small, I don't remember even playing with dolls. I preferred my Matchbox cars, Tonka truck and a few stuffed animals. Barbie didn't have kids... she was all style and no substance - well, and maybe relationships. There was Ken, after all, and the other 'adult' dolls - and whatever personalities I assigned them from the recesses of my imagination. OK - so that's a stretch... It was all about the clothes. And the shoes. Oh, and the corvette... and so on.  So no, no dolls, and no kids. I don't think playing with dolls is an actual indicator, but my guess would be that it's a clue. 

At some point, I consciously decided I would not have children. I don't remember when. I know I was adamant about this by my mid-30s, but I'm sure I was somewhat cognizant of this much earlier. I don't have regrets. As I age, I sometimes engage in self-doubt and ask myself if I did the right thing, and the answer is always the same - it was the right choice for me. Thankfully, there is no longer a stigma around being childless, and I now have many friends, older and younger, who are also intentionally without children.

All that said, as Forrest's mom OKay pointed out, I am very nurturing. Until recently we had three cats - essentially my fur kids. I am connected to these little creatures in ways I wouldn't have imagined. We lost Motormouth to renal failure on Christmas eve, 2010, and Photon to lymphoma the following September. Nightmare, initially my mom's cat, is still with us, and at 14, pretty spry. And last week he was diagnosed with early stage renal failure. While I am told not to panic, I'm a little panicky and pretty heartbroken.

My little white furball still looks and acts like a sprout - he is playful, feisty, curious, active, eats well... and recently started drinking a lot of water. I didn't pick up on it initially, but it finally clicked that he was drinking more than normal, and by that point, for a couple of months. So I scheduled the vet appointment, hoping for an all's well call.

But instead the next day's call made my heart sink. Now, after several calls and email messages, a lot of my own research, and email messages to pet food companies and pet websites, I am feeling more hopeful. Cats can live a long time with proper care, even with failing kidneys.

Proper care, in my mind, is a blend of vet recommendations, what I learn from my own exploration, and gut instinct. For example, I'm not very interested in feeding my cat, who gets pretty decent grain-free food, a prescription diet from one of the major pet food companies. I feel about them the way I do about big agriculture and food producers. I will explore how to balance his protein needs with the right types of food, and supplement with vitamins and Chinese herbs. Acupuncture is another option, but I'm concerned that the trip in the car, unfamiliar surroundings, and new people would be more stressful and negate any benefit. Managing kitty stress is also part of the care plan. We'll see. Maybe they make home visits?

It's interesting to ponder end-of-life decisions. We do this for our pets, but only in a few states can we (legally) make choices for ourselves. We're not yet near this time for Nightmare, but the news brought it to mind. Quality of life is essential. My neighbor, just a few years shy of 100, was ready to go for a while before it was finally her turn. She was tired. And done. She had experienced all of life, her friends and family were gone, and her mobility was compromised. And my friend Stacey, at 49, left two young boys behind with no plan because it didn't occur to her or anyone else that she might die so young. Her brother had to make a choice when his options were limited. It begs the question: Are you ready? Just in case?

I don't look forward to making choices like these - for Nightmare or anyone. But if his quality of life ebbs to the point of pain and suffering, I will carefully calculate our options. Motormouth's last few days will stay with me for a long time to come. I don't think living beings should expect any less than dignity, comfort, peace and love when that time comes.

Many of us are able to choose whether or not to have children. What would it be like if we could choose how or when we die? We have a family joke about going out for that "last cup of tea" when we've outlived our usefullness. What if that were really possible? It's for the living we grieve, yes?