Yves here. Richard Eskow was an occasional reporter, and I was saddened to learn of his cat’s death. But more importantly, I suspect that many who have lost a pet companion feel the same ambivalence he describes: that it somehow feels wrong to be put off by the death of a (common) pet when people all over the world embrace it. of cruel and unnecessary tragedies, starting with the killing of Israelis in Gaza.
By Richard (RJ) Eskow, a journalist who has written for a number of major publications. His weekly show, The Zero Hour, can be found on cable television, radio, Spotify, and podcast media. Originally published on Common Dreams
The ancient Sumerians had a proverb: “A loving heart builds houses.” I’ve thought about it a lot since our family member, the cat, died last month. People who think that cats are indifferent or selfish would be surprised by the depth of their compassion and love. He built houses.
I have been reluctant to admit how much I hurt him. Who am I to cry for one little creature? Am I weak? Indulging? That led me to some psychological papers about the experience of losing a pet, or what some therapists call an “animal companion.” (Other groups use the term “non-humans.”)
“Psychologists should consider the loss of pets as an important background,” says one paper. It cites “human-animal intimacy,” “the benefits of pet ownership,” and “the deep sense of grief that can be felt when a pet dies.” This mourning sometimes becomes “unjustified grief,” perhaps because others do not recognize the depth of the resulting grief or because the grieving person does not feel entitled to such an emotion.
Those papers told me what I already knew, but still needed to hear: that it is natural to mourn someone who lived by your side for years. Most of the time we try to express our feelings, we order them in this way and that we are the guards of the heart. That is a mistake. In fact, it’s worse than wrong. It is spiritual discrimination.
The Sumerian proverb continues: “A hateful heart destroys houses.” Wars continue: wars of extermination, wars of hunger, wars of extermination. I ask myself: Who am I to be sad when people all over the world lose all their loved ones, from infants to the elderly?
But sorrow cannot be measured or compared. It’s like a neutrino. It has no weight, just strength. The image of the “Guide” in the dark mirror in Stephen Mitchell’s translation of the Bhagavad Gita: “the first poet, smaller than an atom, mysterious, shining like the sun.”
Our Palestinian friends have been among the most sympathetic to our loss, despite the enormity of the horrors going on in Gaza. That makes sense, come to think of it. Grief should soften our hearts and help us see the humanity and pain of others.
Confession: For years I called myself a “dog.” But those differences feel artificial now. Realizing you don’t know the taxonomy. It is what it is.
Cats are still mistreated in Western societies, which may have contributed to European superstitions. But they have always had their advocates. A deeply disappointed Charles Baudelaire wrote about them in his infamous book at the time Flowers of Evil, using language that is so emotive that it might embarrass a school child. Pablo Neruda wrote several poems about them. Another says:
cat
he only wants to be a cat
and any cat is a cat
… from the night to his golden eyes.
It continues:
There is no unity
like him,
you are just one thing
like the sun or the topaz,
and the extension line of his spears
strong and cunning
the front line of the ship.
The picture above is not a drawing of a recently deceased cat. It was her sister who took care of her like a mother. That plea saved both of their lives in the shelter when it was time for them to be released. The volunteer who brought us to us said she saw it and thought, “I’m not going to let that love die.”
It didn’t happen, until now.
Sleep, sleep night cat,
on an episcopal feast
Take care of all our dreams…
Here’s the thing about grief, as I’ve been reminded: You can’t think, read, or write your way out of it. You should treat it like a new roommate, live with it until the new arrangement is comfortable for both of you.
Buddhist teacher and Dharmavidya healer David Brazier wrote a book about grief called “Who Loves Dies Well.” That quote might be this cat’s epitaph. A loving heart builds houses. They are strong houses, with enough space for all the people who come to seek shelter. Once they arrive, they are your friends forever.
This house looks lonely, for sure. But it was built to last, and it will always be a home.
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