It’s common to adopt a pet from a shelter. When we do, we often say we “rescued” our dog or cat. But I’m not sure this is truly the case.
Last fall, my family and I heard the devastating news from our vet that we would have to put our sweet cat, Chilly, to sleep. Her lungs were quickly filling up with fluid. She was only 11 years old.
This crushed me. Due to my husband John and I planning to get an RV once we retired, we decided a few years ago we wouldn’t adopt any more cats. I dearly love felines, but I wasn’t worried. Chilly wasn’t that old. I figured I had plenty of time with my little friend. But fate didn’t have the same plans.
On that sunny day in late October, my heart felt like a knife had plunged into it. Who would lie on my chest when I did my morning stretches (a.k.a., cat yoga)? Who would sit beside the window on our dining room chair and gaze out at the neighbors? Who would greet me every morning as I gradually awakened?
Our two young adult sons, John, and I were filled with tears and pain those first two weeks after we said goodbye to our Chilly.
Then one morning as I began to wake up, I heard a strange rumble. It was our one-year-old pup, Sasha, whom we had adopted last June. We no longer had a gate at the top of our stairs (a necessity when we had a kitty box) so Sasha burst into my room, leaped on my bed, and covered my face with kisses.
She decided to join me for my stretches, and cat yoga morphed into puppy yoga … which is a bit more violent … but still gave me some good laughs. I also remembered Sasha’s enjoyment of looking out the window, and I put the dining room chair in front of it. She began to sit there a few times a day.
Our columnist’s rescuer, Sasha. (Photo provided by Amy Shankland)
No new pet can completely replace the loss of another. I still have painful moments, especially when I open a can of tuna and don’t see a ball of fur skidding into the kitchen. But Sasha’s exuberance and love have eased our family’s pain these last six months. Her joy has helped our grief in countless ways.
John was cuddling with Sasha recently when he looked up at me and said, “I know we rescued her … but I think she really rescued us.”
As we enjoy daily walks, play time, and Sasha’s slobbery kisses, I agree. Maybe when we adopt a pet, they are the ones who rescue us.
Amy Shankland is an empty-nester, writer, and fundraising professional living in Noblesville with her husband John and two dogs. You can reach her via email at amys@greenavenue.info.