Her Name was Angie
Her name was Angie. She was known to only a few people: my mother, my sister and her two buddies, Neo and Miki. She graced our lives in ways that cannot be expressed in words and to her (living in confinement like most pets), I meant the world.
Angie was the third cat in my life. After I suddenly lost Lola at age 2 from an undetected congenital lung malformation, the breeder “offered” me another cat.
My sister Françoise picked her for me among other kittens at the breeder’s home and I named her Angie, because she looked sweet and shy on the picture that the breeder had sent to me. Never choose a cat’s name too hastily or before your cat arrives at her new home! Angie turned out to be very cheeky and daring.
She had a strong character too and that certainly helped her deal with health issues. She was diagnosed early with a congenital disease, a heart murmur. Frequent hereditary diseases in bred cats are clearly the consequence of careless breeding.
Angie passed away yesterday. She was in her fifteenth year. When I took her to the vet, I knew that this was it, that I would have to make the awful decision of having her put to sleep.
It is a strange man’s evolution to have developed affective attachments to animals while at the same time still using them for food, clothing, science, “entertainment” and unspeakable other purposes.
Although many of us in occidental societies are “pet owners” (I hate that expression as I think that we have no ownership rights over living beings), we can sense that grieving a pet’s death is not socially accepted.
When I am back at work tomorrow and people ask me how my weekend was, I will not tell them how awful it was because I lost one of my cats. I will keep the news and the pain to myself and to the few who knew Angie.
That is also why I trust that there is a creator of all things Who knows each one of us and to Whom most of us shall eventually return.
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