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The dark stairwell I’m about to walk down has a darker, inky black splotch one stair below my searching foot.
Illustration by Alex Siklos
I really, really dislike that black inky splotch. This cat is at least 20 years old, crotchety and demanding, set on murdering me as I make my morning pilgrimage from the bedroom to the kitchen. He darts from behind my legs to just one step below my toes, trying to surprise me into a tumble down the rest of the stairs. I assume this is so he can eat my eyeballs from my prone and broken form.
The cat was a gift from a friend. Our young family was excited to add a pet, and so he arrived – litter box, food bowl and cat carrier in tow. He’s been with us now for years. I have never liked him. My daughter dotes on him, letting him sleep on her pillow. My boys coo and cuddle and fuss over him. My husband happily lets him sit on his lap while he’s reading, the picture of quiet contentment with a book and a cat.
I’ve never really been a cat person. I assumed that once we had one it would grow on me. After more than a decade of strained cohabitation, I can confirm that the cat has not, in fact, endeared himself to me in any way. We have a dog that I love beyond reason (he’s my baby puppy, no matter how old). We have four chickens that I am ambivalent toward. And a cat that I actively dislike.
All of that said, I don’t wish him any harm and I certainly don’t want him to suffer. He’s well fed and carefully looked after. On the rare occasions when he’s been ill, I’ve risen to my role as caregiver to support him. It’s interesting that the accepted lore on pet ownership is that once they’re there you will fall in love. Maybe I stand in stark contrast to the rest of the world. Maybe my logic – biased brain too easily sees the annoyances and petty grievances of messes and ruined furniture. Or maybe we just aren’t allowed to talk about how, sometimes, you don’t fall in love. Sometimes a pet is an annoying roommate that you’ve taken custody of and will now fulfill the obligation, till death do you part.
Love is funny like that, with so many adages and beliefs that it will find a way, that it will grow, that it will conquer all. I’ve been in love with my husband for 28 years, since we were 15. Back then it wasn’t really love, it was infatuation and friendship, shared interests and something that drove us to seek each other over and over again. My love for my dog is patronizing – I am his caregiver, he is in my care. It is not the meeting of equals that I find in my marriage. My love for my children is probably the most interesting and dynamic. They have grown from being infinitely vulnerable to being full on teenagers, working on standing on their own two feet, needing and demanding different things from us as parents. Moving from the relationship I have with my dog closer to the relationship I have with my husband. A profound, robust, mutually upheld love that will enable them to love like I have been loved, with an all encompassing, profound understanding of the power and beauty within them. Not despite their flaws, but because of all of the little ways that they are human.
Loving teenagers is not easy. They seem to move between vulnerable children and fiercely independent adults on an issue-by-issue basis, making it hard to trust their judgment and even harder to let them stretch their new-found autonomy. Part of them stretching their wings is how they reshape their relationship with me as a parent.
Sometimes, they love me as I love the dog: easy, undemanding devotion. Sometimes, they love me as I love the cat: complex, frustrating, hostile. Sometimes, they love me as I love my husband: respectful, deeply rooted, joyous. Understanding that all of these emotions can co-exist within my kids has helped me stay calm as we all grow together.
It’s helped me better understand my relationship with the cat as well.
As much as he’s a treacherous, murderous scoundrel intent on tripping me on the stairs one morning, I will miss him when he’s gone. He’s a part of me and my family, just as how one segment of my relationship with my kids – the black, inky part – will always be part of who we are as a family. Somehow, the dark spot doesn’t ruin the picture – it just makes the bright parts brighter.
I am so excited to see what my teenagers become. What love looks like in our family in our next phase. And maybe that eternal cat will live another 10 years, still part of it all.
Teresa Waddington lives in Calgary.