goodbye, Eros

I never thought I'd ever give away a pet. It's completely against everything
I believe. And yet, this morning, I brought the sweetest, most lovely cat
I've ever met to a shelter. I feel like the worst person in the world, even
though I know that the shelter is extremely caring, that they will keep him
until he finds a home, and that a sweet cat like him will easily pick himself
an owner.

I'm posting as a sort of catharsis. I hope you don't mind.

The story started several months ago. I noticed that my 4yo girl cat, Oscar,
seemed pretty bored. Eric and I both work (more than?) full time and have
busy schedules; even though Oscar is somewhat of a loner, it seemed like she
could use some company while we are out. I started mulling over the thought
of bringing a second furball into the house.

Some time after the thought first occured to me, I received a pertinent email.
I belong to a freecycle mailing list, where people enable the "reuse" part of
"reduce, reuse, recycle." A cat needed a home. I sat on the email for a
while, then contacted the owner. She'd gotten no other responses. She was
moving to an apartment that only allowed one cat, and she had two. The cat in
question was a sweetheart named Eros. I told her that I had another cat, and
expressed concerns that they might fight; she was hesitant, but eventually
agreed that, should they be fighting constantly, she would rather take Eros
back than leave him in that situation.

My husband, Eric, observed all of this sceptically and accompanied me to meet
Eros. Eros the snuggler; Eros the hugger; Eros the instantly friendly. I
agreed to take him on the spot.

In retrospect, I should have heeded advice to keep Eros in a single room and
let the cats meet through the door, though to be honest I don't think it would
have made a difference. I hated the idea of taking Eros from his family and
dumping him into a closed room for a week, and a massive, three-story house
seemed plenty big for the cats to find their own niches.

From the first, Oscar followed Eros around like she thought he might steal the
silverware. Oscar, hissing and growling, followed a bewildered Eros
everywhere he went, never attacking but always there. He hid himself in a
dark corner of the basement. I worried for him, so eventually I pulled him
out to make sure he knew where the food was. This seemed to signal his
acceptance into the house; the same day, he explored the entire house and made
himself at home. Oscar was not a happy camper.

Eros, being a young, playful cat, drove Oscar mad. Unaccustomed to keeping an
eye out for sneak attacks, she would sun herself on the office window ledge
while Eros crept up from beneath and batted at her tail. Batted. Once.
Completely harmless. But Oscar flew three feet in the air and ran to the
safety of the underside of our bed. Quite a sight.

We thought it was funny, till we realized she wouldn't come out. She lived
under the bed. We figured she must be eating, drinking, and using the
litterbox, but I brought her food and water into the master bathroom just in
case. A day later, we found proof that she hadn't been eating, or using the
litterbox, or doing anything else that required leaving the safety of the
bedroom. In desperation, she peed on the bath mat, then folded a corner over
to cover it up. We thanked her for peeing on a washable object; we brought
a litterbox into the bathtub.

Eros didn't catch on to the fact that his feline housemate bore him no love.
He would hang out near the bed, apparently waiting for her to come out and
play. He would lounge with his belly in the air while Oscar hissed and
growled. I could never figure out if he was genuinely unaware of the ill
will, or if he was playing some cat dominance game.

While Oscar hid under the bed, Eros made himself at home. He snuggled with us
at night. He watched movies with us. He played with every toy and object he
found. He greeted me when I came home. He made himself readily available for
hugs and snuggles and playtime. He was the antithesis of Oscar, who gives her
favors only reluctantly. Oscar won't let me touch her feet; Eros seems to
enjoy it. Oscar would never relax enough to let me rub her belly; Eros
relishes it. It was hard to be sympathetic for my older, grumpier cat, but I
did worry. And Eric, who was also falling for Eros hard, observed that he'd
been coughing and had itchy eyes since Eros arrived; he'd also gotten sick
enough to stay home several times, something he rarely does.

At some point, I found a cut in Oscar's ear. She'd developed an occasional
habit of charging Eros if he came too close to the bed. Eros never attacked
her, that I could tell; I think she got the cut when he defended himself.
She'll bear that souvenir for the rest of her life. Still, I hoped they would
work it out.

Then Eric went to the hospital for a few days. It's a long story, but in the
end, it added up to too much. Eric constantly ill; Oscar miserable. It was
time to give Eros back to his owner. We'd tried, but it just wasn't working
out. In the meantime, the bedroom door was closed most of the time to allow
Oscar to relax a bit, and Eros was locked in the guest bedroom at night so
that he wouldn't be scratching at our door all night.

It took me a while to get in touch with the original owner; she said she
would look into asking the stables where her daughter rode if they
wanted another barn cat. This seemed like a poor place to put a
human-loving cat, and I had my doubts about the outdoor life (shorter
but sweeter, perhaps), but I agreed not to seek out adopters on my own
while she followed up on this.

I didn't hear from her for several days. I tried to contact her, but no
answer. Her cell phone wouldn't let me leave a message. I finally emailed
her, letting her know that I would be putting Eros in a kennel while I sought
an owner for him, but that they couldn't keep him through Thanksgiving, so I'd
bring him to the shelter if I couldn't find anyone. Then I did all of those
things. The kennel workers adore Eros; they allowed him freedoms that other
cats didn't get. Everyone said, "If only I didn't already have three cats
....", "If only my dogs wouldn't kill him ..."

Several days later, I got a response to the effect that it was "great" that
I'd "found a way to work it out" since she "couldn't take him back." Right.
That's not exactly how I felt about the matter, nor how she'd described the
situation previously, but not much I could do about it. It did irritate me
that I'd lost several days of seeking potential adopters; I wish she'd just
told me from the start to handle it myself. I would have gained valuable
days.

I found out from our vet that her sister, a hockey buddy of mine, was looking
for a kitten. I referred her to Eros, then waited to hear the verdict.
Unfortunately, her kids weren't crazy about him, so no go.

This morning, I went to the kennel and tearfully put Eros in a carrier. My
tears blurred my vision, so one of the assistants had to help me get his
little head and tail in without pinching anything. Of course, he meowed as
soon as he set foot in the carrier, and he didn't stop as I approached the
humane society doors. Of course, I'd forgotten that they don't open for
adoption till 11am; they must have taken pity on my tear-streaked face,
because they let me in and the shelter director took down Eros' info. They
put him in a cage; he has to stay there for a day to "settle in" before they
evaluate him. I was able to give him his favorite toy, though. I gave them
the $50 fee, as well as paying for a gift certificate to help his next owners
set up. I asked, somewhat jokingly, if they had counselling services for
people who feel like they're horrible people because they gave up their pets,
and to my surprise she handed me a business card; apparently, they have "pet
loss" counselling, which includes those who have had to give up their pets.
Some part of me expects all animal lovers to look down on me in disgust for
parting with Eros; that's certainly how I feel about myself. It's amazing to
me to see no judgement in the eyes of the kennel people or the humane society
people.

I got to work and shortly received an email from a co-worker whose girlfriend
is looking for a cat. Sigh. I had to tell them that Eros was at the shelter,
and gave them the phone number. It sounds like they've found a kitten
elsewhere, anyway.

It feels awful to know that I'll never bury my face in his fur again; never
get a hug from him; never watch him slide out as he chases a toy across the
hardwood of our front hall. I'll be able to visit and play with him while
he's at the shelter, but I'll never really know that his new owners will treat
him well. It does help a bit to see my husband healthy and to see Oscar
making herself comfortable around the house again, now that we've convinced
her that Eros isn't around. But I don't think I'll stop crying
intermittently, or blaming myself, for quite a while.

Thanks for listening (reading).

--
monique

I'm so sorry about what you're going through. We had a similar situation
when we moved and brought Xoxo to live with us. For months he lived
under a bed, only coming out to eat and use the litterbox. Luna and Maya
chased him relentlessly. We were close to finding another home for Xoxo,
but when we introduced the boys to the household, this completely
changed the dynamics of the house. Now Xoxo is a very happy cat in our
tribe of 7.
Purrs that Eros finds a good home soon and purrs to you for caring so
much about him.

--
Victor Martinez
Owned and operated by the Fantastic Seven (TM)
Send your spam he
Email me he

I'm so sorry about what you're going through. We had a similar situation
when we moved and brought Xoxo to live with us. For months he lived
under a bed, only coming out to eat and use the litterbox. Luna and Maya
chased him relentlessly. We were close to finding another home for Xoxo,
but when we introduced the boys to the household, this completely
changed the dynamics of the house. Now Xoxo is a very happy cat in our
tribe of 7.
Purrs that Eros finds a good home soon and purrs to you for caring so
much about him.

--
Victor Martinez
Owned and operated by the Fantastic Seven (TM)
Send your spam he
Email me he

On 2004-11-22, Victor Martinez penned:
I'm so sorry about what you're going through. We had a similar situation
when we moved and brought Xoxo to live with us. For months he lived under a
bed, only coming out to eat and use the litterbox. Luna and Maya chased him
relentlessly. We were close to finding another home for Xoxo, but when we
introduced the boys to the household, this completely changed the dynamics
of the house. Now Xoxo is a very happy cat in our tribe of 7. Purrs that
Eros finds a good home soon and purrs to you for caring so much about him.

Thank you very much. I have a strong feeling that Eros will get over me much
sooner than I will get over him! The little guy is shamelessly promiscuous
with his hugs and purrs.

--
monique

On 2004-11-22, Victor Martinez penned:
I'm so sorry about what you're going through. We had a similar situation
when we moved and brought Xoxo to live with us. For months he lived under a
bed, only coming out to eat and use the litterbox. Luna and Maya chased him
relentlessly. We were close to finding another home for Xoxo, but when we
introduced the boys to the household, this completely changed the dynamics
of the house. Now Xoxo is a very happy cat in our tribe of 7. Purrs that
Eros finds a good home soon and purrs to you for caring so much about him.

Thank you very much. I have a strong feeling that Eros will get over me much
sooner than I will get over him! The little guy is shamelessly promiscuous
with his hugs and purrs.

--
monique

((((((((Monique)))))))) (That's a cyber-hug)

I'm so sorry you had to give him away when you obviously fell in love
with him. You did the best you could, and what seemed to be right for
everyone. I'm sure he'll find another loving home. I'm also sure
you'll grieve for a long time, but I hope you can find comfort in the
fact that you did your best.

Joy

"Monique Y. Mudama" wrote in message
...
I never thought I'd ever give away a pet. It's completely against
everything
I believe. And yet, this morning, I brought the sweetest, most lovely
cat
I've ever met to a shelter. I feel like the worst person in the
world, even
though I know that the shelter is extremely caring, that they will
keep him
until he finds a home, and that a sweet cat like him will easily pick
himself
an owner.

I'm posting as a sort of catharsis. I hope you don't mind.

The story started several months ago. I noticed that my 4yo girl cat,
Oscar,
seemed pretty bored. Eric and I both work (more than?) full time and
have
busy schedules; even though Oscar is somewhat of a loner, it seemed
like she
could use some company while we are out. I started mulling over the
thought
of bringing a second furball into the house.

Some time after the thought first occured to me, I received a
pertinent email.
I belong to a freecycle mailing list, where people enable the "reuse"
part of
"reduce, reuse, recycle." A cat needed a home. I sat on the email
for a
while, then contacted the owner. She'd gotten no other responses.
She was
moving to an apartment that only allowed one cat, and she had two.
The cat in
question was a sweetheart named Eros. I told her that I had another
cat, and
expressed concerns that they might fight; she was hesitant, but
eventually
agreed that, should they be fighting constantly, she would rather take
Eros
back than leave him in that situation.

My husband, Eric, observed all of this sceptically and accompanied me
to meet
Eros. Eros the snuggler; Eros the hugger; Eros the instantly
friendly. I
agreed to take him on the spot.

In retrospect, I should have heeded advice to keep Eros in a single
room and
let the cats meet through the door, though to be honest I don't think
it would
have made a difference. I hated the idea of taking Eros from his
family and
dumping him into a closed room for a week, and a massive, three-story
house
seemed plenty big for the cats to find their own niches.

From the first, Oscar followed Eros around like she thought he might
steal the
silverware. Oscar, hissing and growling, followed a bewildered Eros
everywhere he went, never attacking but always there. He hid himself
in a
dark corner of the basement. I worried for him, so eventually I
pulled him
out to make sure he knew where the food was. This seemed to signal
his
acceptance into the house; the same day, he explored the entire house
and made
himself at home. Oscar was not a happy camper.

Eros, being a young, playful cat, drove Oscar mad. Unaccustomed to
keeping an
eye out for sneak attacks, she would sun herself on the office window
ledge
while Eros crept up from beneath and batted at her tail. Batted.
Once.
Completely harmless. But Oscar flew three feet in the air and ran to
the
safety of the underside of our bed. Quite a sight.

We thought it was funny, till we realized she wouldn't come out. She
lived
under the bed. We figured she must be eating, drinking, and using the
litterbox, but I brought her food and water into the master bathroom
just in
case. A day later, we found proof that she hadn't been eating, or
using the
litterbox, or doing anything else that required leaving the safety of
the
bedroom. In desperation, she peed on the bath mat, then folded a
corner over
to cover it up. We thanked her for peeing on a washable object; we
brought
a litterbox into the bathtub.

Eros didn't catch on to the fact that his feline housemate bore him no
love.
He would hang out near the bed, apparently waiting for her to come out
and
play. He would lounge with his belly in the air while Oscar hissed
and
growled. I could never figure out if he was genuinely unaware of the
ill
will, or if he was playing some cat dominance game.

While Oscar hid under the bed, Eros made himself at home. He snuggled
with us
at night. He watched movies with us. He played with every toy and
object he
found. He greeted me when I came home. He made himself readily
available for
hugs and snuggles and playtime. He was the antithesis of Oscar, who
gives her
favors only reluctantly. Oscar won't let me touch her feet; Eros
seems to
enjoy it. Oscar would never relax enough to let me rub her belly;
Eros
relishes it. It was hard to be sympathetic for my older, grumpier
cat, but I
did worry. And Eric, who was also falling for Eros hard, observed
that he'd
been coughing and had itchy eyes since Eros arrived; he'd also gotten
sick
enough to stay home several times, something he rarely does.

At some point, I found a cut in Oscar's ear. She'd developed an
occasional
habit of charging Eros if he came too close to the bed. Eros never
attacked
her, that I could tell; I think she got the cut when he defended
himself.
She'll bear that souvenir for the rest of her life. Still, I hoped
they would
work it out.

Then Eric went to the hospital for a few days. It's a long story, but
in the
end, it added up to too much. Eric constantly ill; Oscar miserable.
It was
time to give Eros back to his owner. We'd tried, but it just wasn't
working
out. In the meantime, the bedroom door was closed most of the time to
allow
Oscar to relax a bit, and Eros was locked in the guest bedroom at
night so
that he wouldn't be scratching at our door all night.

It took me a while to get in touch with the original owner; she said
she
would look into asking the stables where her daughter rode if they
wanted another barn cat. This seemed like a poor place to put a
human-loving cat, and I had my doubts about the outdoor life (shorter
but sweeter, perhaps), but I agreed not to seek out adopters on my own
while she followed up on this.

I didn't hear from her for several days. I tried to contact her, but
no
answer. Her cell phone wouldn't let me leave a message. I finally
emailed
her, letting her know that I would be putting Eros in a kennel while I
sought
an owner for him, but that they couldn't keep him through
Thanksgiving, so I'd
bring him to the shelter if I couldn't find anyone. Then I did all of
those
things. The kennel workers adore Eros; they allowed him freedoms that
other
cats didn't get. Everyone said, "If only I didn't already have three
cats
...", "If only my dogs wouldn't kill him ..."

Several days later, I got a response to the effect that it was "great"
that
I'd "found a way to work it out" since she "couldn't take him back."
Right.
That's not exactly how I felt about the matter, nor how she'd
described the
situation previously, but not much I could do about it. It did
irritate me
that I'd lost several days of seeking potential adopters; I wish she'd
just
told me from the start to handle it myself. I would have gained
valuable
days.

I found out from our vet that her sister, a hockey buddy of mine, was
looking
for a kitten. I referred her to Eros, then waited to hear the
verdict.
Unfortunately, her kids weren't crazy about him, so no go.

This morning, I went to the kennel and tearfully put Eros in a
carrier. My
tears blurred my vision, so one of the assistants had to help me get
his
little head and tail in without pinching anything. Of course, he
meowed as
soon as he set foot in the carrier, and he didn't stop as I approached
the
humane society doors. Of course, I'd forgotten that they don't open
for
adoption till 11am; they must have taken pity on my tear-streaked
face,
because they let me in and the shelter director took down Eros' info.
They
put him in a cage; he has to stay there for a day to "settle in"
before they
evaluate him. I was able to give him his favorite toy, though. I
gave them
the $50 fee, as well as paying for a gift certificate to help his next
owners
set up. I asked, somewhat jokingly, if they had counselling services
for
people who feel like they're horrible people because they gave up
their pets,
and to my surprise she handed me a business card; apparently, they
have "pet
loss" counselling, which includes those who have had to give up their
pets.
Some part of me expects all animal lovers to look down on me in
disgust for
parting with Eros; that's certainly how I feel about myself. It's
amazing to
me to see no judgement in the eyes of the kennel people or the humane
society
people.

I got to work and shortly received an email from a co-worker whose
girlfriend
is looking for a cat. Sigh. I had to tell them that Eros was at the
shelter,
and gave them the phone number. It sounds like they've found a kitten
elsewhere, anyway.

It feels awful to know that I'll never bury my face in his fur again;
never
get a hug from him; never watch him slide out as he chases a toy
across the
hardwood of our front hall. I'll be able to visit and play with him
while
he's at the shelter, but I'll never really know that his new owners
will treat
him well. It does help a bit to see my husband healthy and to see
Oscar
making herself comfortable around the house again, now that we've
convinced
her that Eros isn't around. But I don't think I'll stop crying
intermittently, or blaming myself, for quite a while.

Thanks for listening (reading).

--
monique

((((((((Monique)))))))) (That's a cyber-hug)

I'm so sorry you had to give him away when you obviously fell in love
with him. You did the best you could, and what seemed to be right for
everyone. I'm sure he'll find another loving home. I'm also sure
you'll grieve for a long time, but I hope you can find comfort in the
fact that you did your best.

Joy

"Monique Y. Mudama" wrote in message
...
I never thought I'd ever give away a pet. It's completely against
everything
I believe. And yet, this morning, I brought the sweetest, most lovely
cat
I've ever met to a shelter. I feel like the worst person in the
world, even
though I know that the shelter is extremely caring, that they will
keep him
until he finds a home, and that a sweet cat like him will easily pick
himself
an owner.

I'm posting as a sort of catharsis. I hope you don't mind.

The story started several months ago. I noticed that my 4yo girl cat,
Oscar,
seemed pretty bored. Eric and I both work (more than?) full time and
have
busy schedules; even though Oscar is somewhat of a loner, it seemed
like she
could use some company while we are out. I started mulling over the
thought
of bringing a second furball into the house.

Some time after the thought first occured to me, I received a
pertinent email.
I belong to a freecycle mailing list, where people enable the "reuse"
part of
"reduce, reuse, recycle." A cat needed a home. I sat on the email
for a
while, then contacted the owner. She'd gotten no other responses.
She was
moving to an apartment that only allowed one cat, and she had two.
The cat in
question was a sweetheart named Eros. I told her that I had another
cat, and
expressed concerns that they might fight; she was hesitant, but
eventually
agreed that, should they be fighting constantly, she would rather take
Eros
back than leave him in that situation.

My husband, Eric, observed all of this sceptically and accompanied me
to meet
Eros. Eros the snuggler; Eros the hugger; Eros the instantly
friendly. I
agreed to take him on the spot.

In retrospect, I should have heeded advice to keep Eros in a single
room and
let the cats meet through the door, though to be honest I don't think
it would
have made a difference. I hated the idea of taking Eros from his
family and
dumping him into a closed room for a week, and a massive, three-story
house
seemed plenty big for the cats to find their own niches.

From the first, Oscar followed Eros around like she thought he might
steal the
silverware. Oscar, hissing and growling, followed a bewildered Eros
everywhere he went, never attacking but always there. He hid himself
in a
dark corner of the basement. I worried for him, so eventually I
pulled him
out to make sure he knew where the food was. This seemed to signal
his
acceptance into the house; the same day, he explored the entire house
and made
himself at home. Oscar was not a happy camper.

Eros, being a young, playful cat, drove Oscar mad. Unaccustomed to
keeping an
eye out for sneak attacks, she would sun herself on the office window
ledge
while Eros crept up from beneath and batted at her tail. Batted.
Once.
Completely harmless. But Oscar flew three feet in the air and ran to
the
safety of the underside of our bed. Quite a sight.

We thought it was funny, till we realized she wouldn't come out. She
lived
under the bed. We figured she must be eating, drinking, and using the
litterbox, but I brought her food and water into the master bathroom
just in
case. A day later, we found proof that she hadn't been eating, or
using the
litterbox, or doing anything else that required leaving the safety of
the
bedroom. In desperation, she peed on the bath mat, then folded a
corner over
to cover it up. We thanked her for peeing on a washable object; we
brought
a litterbox into the bathtub.

Eros didn't catch on to the fact that his feline housemate bore him no
love.
He would hang out near the bed, apparently waiting for her to come out
and
play. He would lounge with his belly in the air while Oscar hissed
and
growled. I could never figure out if he was genuinely unaware of the
ill
will, or if he was playing some cat dominance game.

While Oscar hid under the bed, Eros made himself at home. He snuggled
with us
at night. He watched movies with us. He played with every toy and
object he
found. He greeted me when I came home. He made himself readily
available for
hugs and snuggles and playtime. He was the antithesis of Oscar, who
gives her
favors only reluctantly. Oscar won't let me touch her feet; Eros
seems to
enjoy it. Oscar would never relax enough to let me rub her belly;
Eros
relishes it. It was hard to be sympathetic for my older, grumpier
cat, but I
did worry. And Eric, who was also falling for Eros hard, observed
that he'd
been coughing and had itchy eyes since Eros arrived; he'd also gotten
sick
enough to stay home several times, something he rarely does.

At some point, I found a cut in Oscar's ear. She'd developed an
occasional
habit of charging Eros if he came too close to the bed. Eros never
attacked
her, that I could tell; I think she got the cut when he defended
himself.
She'll bear that souvenir for the rest of her life. Still, I hoped
they would
work it out.

Then Eric went to the hospital for a few days. It's a long story, but
in the
end, it added up to too much. Eric constantly ill; Oscar miserable.
It was
time to give Eros back to his owner. We'd tried, but it just wasn't
working
out. In the meantime, the bedroom door was closed most of the time to
allow
Oscar to relax a bit, and Eros was locked in the guest bedroom at
night so
that he wouldn't be scratching at our door all night.

It took me a while to get in touch with the original owner; she said
she
would look into asking the stables where her daughter rode if they
wanted another barn cat. This seemed like a poor place to put a
human-loving cat, and I had my doubts about the outdoor life (shorter
but sweeter, perhaps), but I agreed not to seek out adopters on my own
while she followed up on this.

I didn't hear from her for several days. I tried to contact her, but
no
answer. Her cell phone wouldn't let me leave a message. I finally
emailed
her, letting her know that I would be putting Eros in a kennel while I
sought
an owner for him, but that they couldn't keep him through
Thanksgiving, so I'd
bring him to the shelter if I couldn't find anyone. Then I did all of
those
things. The kennel workers adore Eros; they allowed him freedoms that
other
cats didn't get. Everyone said, "If only I didn't already have three
cats
...", "If only my dogs wouldn't kill him ..."

Several days later, I got a response to the effect that it was "great"
that
I'd "found a way to work it out" since she "couldn't take him back."
Right.
That's not exactly how I felt about the matter, nor how she'd
described the
situation previously, but not much I could do about it. It did
irritate me
that I'd lost several days of seeking potential adopters; I wish she'd
just
told me from the start to handle it myself. I would have gained
valuable
days.

I found out from our vet that her sister, a hockey buddy of mine, was
looking
for a kitten. I referred her to Eros, then waited to hear the
verdict.
Unfortunately, her kids weren't crazy about him, so no go.

This morning, I went to the kennel and tearfully put Eros in a
carrier. My
tears blurred my vision, so one of the assistants had to help me get
his
little head and tail in without pinching anything. Of course, he
meowed as
soon as he set foot in the carrier, and he didn't stop as I approached
the
humane society doors. Of course, I'd forgotten that they don't open
for
adoption till 11am; they must have taken pity on my tear-streaked
face,
because they let me in and the shelter director took down Eros' info.
They
put him in a cage; he has to stay there for a day to "settle in"
before they
evaluate him. I was able to give him his favorite toy, though. I
gave them
the $50 fee, as well as paying for a gift certificate to help his next
owners
set up. I asked, somewhat jokingly, if they had counselling services
for
people who feel like they're horrible people because they gave up
their pets,
and to my surprise she handed me a business card; apparently, they
have "pet
loss" counselling, which includes those who have had to give up their
pets.
Some part of me expects all animal lovers to look down on me in
disgust for
parting with Eros; that's certainly how I feel about myself. It's
amazing to
me to see no judgement in the eyes of the kennel people or the humane
society
people.

I got to work and shortly received an email from a co-worker whose
girlfriend
is looking for a cat. Sigh. I had to tell them that Eros was at the
shelter,
and gave them the phone number. It sounds like they've found a kitten
elsewhere, anyway.

It feels awful to know that I'll never bury my face in his fur again;
never
get a hug from him; never watch him slide out as he chases a toy
across the
hardwood of our front hall. I'll be able to visit and play with him
while
he's at the shelter, but I'll never really know that his new owners
will treat
him well. It does help a bit to see my husband healthy and to see
Oscar
making herself comfortable around the house again, now that we've
convinced
her that Eros isn't around. But I don't think I'll stop crying
intermittently, or blaming myself, for quite a while.

Thanks for listening (reading).

--
monique

On 2004-11-22, Yoj penned:
((((((((Monique)))))))) (That's a cyber-hug)

I'm so sorry you had to give him away when you obviously fell in love with
him. You did the best you could, and what seemed to be right for everyone.
I'm sure he'll find another loving home. I'm also sure you'll grieve for a
long time, but I hope you can find comfort in the fact that you did your
best.

Joy


Thank you.

I'm wondering if this is an object lesson in humility and understanding,
or something. One reason I expected the shelter workers and everyone to
look down on me is because I have never had any compassion for someone
who would give up their pets. I simply couldn't imagine anyone giving
up their pets if they were responsible pet owners and good people. So,
now, I see myself as an irresponsible pet owner and bad person. At
least I'm consistent! ... and maybe I've learned a little about that
"judge not, lest ye be judged yerself" bit. Not that I'm a big fan of
that book as a whole, but there are some good quotes.

It does bum me out to realize that Oscar probably won't tolerate another cat
in the house, and that I'd certainly be too scared to try. And it seems like
the only way to know about the allergies is to have Eric live with the cat for
a while. So ... I wonder whether there will ever be other cats in my future,
aside from Oscar. That makes me sad. On the plus side, Eric's not allergic
to dogs, and Oscar has actually done fairly well living with dogs in the past.
But we really don't have time for one. If we did, we'd have one already!

--
monique

On 2004-11-22, Yoj penned:
((((((((Monique)))))))) (That's a cyber-hug)

I'm so sorry you had to give him away when you obviously fell in love with
him. You did the best you could, and what seemed to be right for everyone.
I'm sure he'll find another loving home. I'm also sure you'll grieve for a
long time, but I hope you can find comfort in the fact that you did your
best.

Joy


Thank you.

I'm wondering if this is an object lesson in humility and understanding,
or something. One reason I expected the shelter workers and everyone to
look down on me is because I have never had any compassion for someone
who would give up their pets. I simply couldn't imagine anyone giving
up their pets if they were responsible pet owners and good people. So,
now, I see myself as an irresponsible pet owner and bad person. At
least I'm consistent! ... and maybe I've learned a little about that
"judge not, lest ye be judged yerself" bit. Not that I'm a big fan of
that book as a whole, but there are some good quotes.

It does bum me out to realize that Oscar probably won't tolerate another cat
in the house, and that I'd certainly be too scared to try. And it seems like
the only way to know about the allergies is to have Eric live with the cat for
a while. So ... I wonder whether there will ever be other cats in my future,
aside from Oscar. That makes me sad. On the plus side, Eric's not allergic
to dogs, and Oscar has actually done fairly well living with dogs in the past.
But we really don't have time for one. If we did, we'd have one already!

--
monique

It feels awful to know that I'll never bury my face in his fur again; never
get a hug from him; never watch him slide out as he chases a toy across the
hardwood of our front hall. I'll be able to visit and play with him while
he's at the shelter, but I'll never really know that his new owners will treat
him well. It does help a bit to see my husband healthy and to see Oscar
making herself comfortable around the house again, now that we've convinced
her that Eros isn't around. But I don't think I'll stop crying
intermittently, or blaming myself, for quite a while.

Thanks for listening (reading).

I know how hard it is to give up an animal. I experienced that with a
dog that my ex-wife and I rescued with the full intention of finding it
a loving permanent home. Even knowing from day one that the dog would be
going to live elsewhere didn't make it any easier.

You really can't blame yourself. You were motivated by a love for
animals and an honest intention to give Eros a loving home. There was no
way you could have known that Oscar wouldn't take to Eros. The bottom
line is that you tried, you did your best, and it was just one of those
things that wasn't meant to be.

From the way you describe Eros it won't take long to find his OneTrueHome.

Dan