My Money's Worth
Sorry for not blogging! it's not like nothing is happening. I had an anniversary this week—a year ago, my buddy Panther the cat got sick and went through a couple of months of off-and-on hospitalization. Neither of us enjoyed it much, as you can imagine. But he got better, thanks to some amazing veterinary work and his own inner toughness.
When I talked to people about it at the time and since, the majority of them expressed amazement at how much I spent to keep that cat alive. I''m a little amazed myself. But somehow this anniversary put it in a nutshell for me. I've had an extra year with a little creature I love for a lot of reasons. If you've ever loved any living creature on this earth, maybe you can understand how the money just doesn't matter. They were careful to warn me, every time, before they went ahead. And I would gulp, knowing how much work it would take to pay off that debt. But the question of whether it was worth it never came up.
Every time I stand in a line at the supermarket, I see publications crammed with stories about miserable, needy millionaires. I've known a few myself. People resort to all sorts of means to assuage the solitude of the human condition. I remember one day when I came to the hospital to visit Panther. He was sitting in his cage, facing the wall, gathered into himself, so frightened it wrung my heart. But he cheered up, as I petted him and talked to him, and soon he was purring, rubbing his head against my hands, as happy as he usually is at home. He's a happy cat, most of the time. The vet student who met me downstairs and took me to the ward stood next to us, with a look of mild awe on his face. "Boy," he said, "he really likes you."
"It's mutual," I said. I like the little guy. I like him a lot. And it's not just the liking that goes both ways. The world can be scary sometimes, but it helps a lot when a little creature like this cat—he's curled next to me right now—trusts you and thinks you're OK. I hasten to assure you that I have humans that I care about in my life. But I've also got this cat. I've had him for a year that I might not have. It was worth the money. I can make more money. (I think.) But you can't buy what the little creature gives me. It's really as simple as that.
When I talked to people about it at the time and since, the majority of them expressed amazement at how much I spent to keep that cat alive. I''m a little amazed myself. But somehow this anniversary put it in a nutshell for me. I've had an extra year with a little creature I love for a lot of reasons. If you've ever loved any living creature on this earth, maybe you can understand how the money just doesn't matter. They were careful to warn me, every time, before they went ahead. And I would gulp, knowing how much work it would take to pay off that debt. But the question of whether it was worth it never came up.
Every time I stand in a line at the supermarket, I see publications crammed with stories about miserable, needy millionaires. I've known a few myself. People resort to all sorts of means to assuage the solitude of the human condition. I remember one day when I came to the hospital to visit Panther. He was sitting in his cage, facing the wall, gathered into himself, so frightened it wrung my heart. But he cheered up, as I petted him and talked to him, and soon he was purring, rubbing his head against my hands, as happy as he usually is at home. He's a happy cat, most of the time. The vet student who met me downstairs and took me to the ward stood next to us, with a look of mild awe on his face. "Boy," he said, "he really likes you."
"It's mutual," I said. I like the little guy. I like him a lot. And it's not just the liking that goes both ways. The world can be scary sometimes, but it helps a lot when a little creature like this cat—he's curled next to me right now—trusts you and thinks you're OK. I hasten to assure you that I have humans that I care about in my life. But I've also got this cat. I've had him for a year that I might not have. It was worth the money. I can make more money. (I think.) But you can't buy what the little creature gives me. It's really as simple as that.
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