Shave the Cat

I've been asked how I can find humor during moments of vomit, screaming, hitting, questioning, crying and the complicated rules of Pokemon. And my only answer to that is I have shaved my cat. And as I type that, I realize that "shave my cat" could have two meanings. You people are disgusting. I'm talking about my Maine Coon cat Petey. Ironically, this is a serious blog about being lighthearted.

Nine years ago almost to the week, Pete and I were pregnant. It was a surprise to both of us and being stubborn and not open to change, I was not the happiest initially. I was training for a marathon and about to start a graduate degree while working. It took a few weeks and some shopping for cute maternity clothes and I finally decided that I was pretty excited for this baby. And it was then that we lost it.

Miscarriage happens all the time but that doesn't make things any better for those of us who have gone through it. I was very healthy, fit and young. And for some reason my body betrayed me. Learning we were having a miscarriage is still to this day my saddest memory. It was one of those defining moments that completely changes who you are as a person. Finding your husband crying in the garage for what we lost so he could be strong for me is crippling. And you don't want to admit having such sorrow for someone you never met. But perfect dreams are perfect and losing them is losing what could have been perfect, unblemished by sleepless nights and temper tantrums. That week I developed a bottomless pit of sadness that is still there. Because of baby #1, I have more compassion and empathy. I "get" despair. And I know it gets better.

The day after we learned we were losing our baby, Petey the Cat was scheduled for grooming. Well, because I am a "strong" person who felt she shouldn't be affected by a miscarriage, I kept that appointment. Because life goes on damn it and cats need to be brushed. And I'm so glad I kept that appointment as it shapes my attitude every day.

We dropped Petey off at Groomingdales (yes, that was the real name) and drove aimlessly around town waiting to pick him up. After an hour or so, we picked Petey up, already in his cage. I saw his little poofy face and thought he looked great. Then I got a better glimpse. My Maine Coon cat, a 18-pound furry bowling ball, was shaved bald, except for his head, feet and the top of his tail.

I sputtered, "You shaved my cat!"
Groomingdales person, "I know! Isn't it great?!"
I was speechless. Actually, I wanted to say, "What the fuck!? You shaved my fucking cat!? Who the fuck does that? He looks like a fucking moron!?" But speechless was probably a better option right then. I PAID $45 for this hack job and took my ridiculous looking cat home.

I sat on my couch and waves of sadness washed over me again as the shock of my stupid looking cat wore off. I started to cry...again. But then I looked at my cat. And he still looked ridiculous. But this time it was kind of funny. And I actually started to laugh. What is so important here is that I didn't think I'd laugh again. I realized then that the dark pit would always be there, but life would still have funny moments - I would just have to look harder for them sometimes.

So when I hear about really crappy things happening to people and I'm searching for a piece of advice for them, I always fall back to "Shave the cat." I know it doesn't make a ton of sense. Unless you have a cat. And in that case, I've got the name of a cat groomer for you. They are excellent. And there is nothing better than a huge cat with a lion cut.