I was editing my blog's "about me" section to show that I've been married 11 years rather than 10 years and decided that I should also change the profile to show that our family no longer includes a dog and cat. Just a dog.
We recycled our cat. Recycled!? (you say) What can they make from recycled cat? A park bench?
Here's the thing. I went to the vet nearly three years ago looking for a kitten. They said, "Hey, we have this nice adult cat that needs a home. He is neutered, has all shots, is declawed, microchipped, blah, blah, used car salesman pitch." Marshall was cute. A grey cat with a white tuxedo, socks and a mustache.
The only thing is, he would bite when you pet him too much. But we thought he'd get used to us. Because he was only one year old and he had been living in a cage in the lobby of the vet's office.
So we loved that darn cat for three years. The kids only wanted love, or even "like", in return. They wanted to not be bitten by him. They knew Marshall would never sleep with them, never sit on their laps. In all the time we had him, Marshall never sat on my lap or my husband's lap either.
He started biting us even when we weren't petting him. He'd just walk up to us and bite...CHOMP...out of the blue. He would wait by the door to escape and then run for the woods. When we went after him (he was declawed after all) he would turn and hiss and bite. He drew blood on the kids. All of them. He bit the dog as the dog was sleeping. Poor dog.
He would bite the dog's ankle when the dog was eating. And Marshall started peeing on our carpet in the basement. No matter how clean the litter box was kept.
So, we knew that Marshall was not happy. And we weren't happy. I felt so terrible. And so guilty. I called the vet's office and explained what was going on. They said for whatever reason, Marshall was stressed. They said we could bring him back and they would try to find Marshall another home (with people who like biting cats, I guess.) So for a week, my husband and I started having conversations with the kids about what would happen and why.
I hoped that my husband would actually take Marshall to the vet's office, but he ended up being busy with work and (surprise!) German, so it fell to me. And it's summer, so the kids are home. So guess how that went? Me and three kids giving away the family pet. Not so good.
We gathered all Marshall's toys, food bowls, extra food, everything was going to be donated. We coaxed Marshall into his pet carrier. He was meowing and reaching his front legs out and trying to get out. My daughter was crying and saying that she didn't want him to go and that Marshall was telling us he wanted to stay. My two boys were getting all teary-eyed. I was starting to well-up. I called my husband and left him a voice mail at work telling him how lousy it is that he left this to me and that I hate making the kids feel this way. Sob sob.
So I load the three kids and the cat in the car. We are driving the 20 minutes to the vet's office and Marshall is howling, just meowing non-stop. I'm silently weaping, thinking about the emotional scars I'm searing into the kids. C is not very silently crying and telling me she doesn't want to get rid of Marshall. B is trying to console Marshall. S is looking out the window and wiping his cheek. I am wondering how I am going to manage when we get to the actual vet's office. Should the kids come in or stay in the car?
And then it happened. When I was at my wit's end, God gave me a gift. And the gift was pee and poop. I'm sorry, but it is true.
All of a sudden. Marshall was silent. And then there was a smell. And 10 year old B said, "Ewww. Oh, Marshall!! He just pooped! And peed!" Then all three kids went "Ewww!" And they laughed and grimmaced and rolled down their car windows. They rode the last four blocks to the vet's office with their heads out the car window, pretending to gasp for air. When we got to the office, I carried Marshall's pet carrier in, pee dripping. The kids carried all the gear and food. I told the kids to say good-bye and they did. "Bye, Marshall. Bye, Marshall. Bye, Marshall." No tears.
That darn cat, all we did was try to love him. For three years. And he bit us. He was not going to leave us as 'Marshall the Saint.' And I was not going to be 'Evil Mommy.'
Now, Marshall has found a home. We wish him all the best. Although the vet did say he was back in the office for some stitches after jumping through a glass coffee table at his new home. Oh, Marshall, you need to chill, brother.