Parenting Lorenz

Serving the people of the Archdiocese of Milwaukee

Book contract proves to be less than cat's meow

By Patricia Lorenz

I'll remember Feb. 20, 2001 for a long time because two events happened that day that affected me in a profound way. I was in Louisville, Ky., for the week staying with my 11-year-old niece, Anna, while her folks were on vacation. Late in the afternoon after Anna and I played our daily game of "elephant" (our made-up version of "horse" at the basketball hoop in my brother's driveway) the phone rang. It was my agent in New York telling me I was about to get a contract for my third book. I whooped, hollered and ran around inside the house doing a happy dance. Anna looked at me like I'd lost most of my marbles.

It had been nearly four years since I sold a book. And this was to a publisher who has a much wider distribution market than my first publisher. I was ecstatic. You can imagine that this is the kind of news that some writers wait years to hear. Sometimes we go on year after year just selling stories, articles, essays and columns to magazines and newspapers and figure that's where our abilities lie. But to sell a book, a real book, something we've poured our guts and foibles into for weeks and months, sometimes years, is a joy of such depth that it's hard to describe, even for a writer.

I called my children, e-mailed my friends and blurted out the news when my brother and his wife called that evening from Las Vegas. A few hours later I checked the incoming e-mails.

The following note arrived from my sister: Today was a very sad day for us. Our cat, Jasmine, died this morning. We'd only had her for 14 months and she was only 2 years old.

She had ear surgery in January.... After the surgery, she wouldn't eat very much. We bought all kinds of foods to spoil her, but she didn't want any part of any of it. Of course she got weaker and lost weight, but we didn't think she would die. She was such a sweet cat, very loving and always wanted to be with the family. I've been blubbering all day and really have a bad headache. I never thought I'd get so attached to a cat. Anyway, that's our news for today. Catherine

My high-on-success mood suddenly changed as my heart seemed to form a lump in my throat. I could barely think. Even though I'm not a cat person or even really a pet person for that matter, I ached from my toenails to my hair. Confusion, guilt and compassion jumbled themselves up inside me.

For years I'd had a sort of personal "no-pet" policy in my home, evolved, no doubt, because all the pets of my youth died before their time. The goldfish were probably over-fed. The turtles, in my turtle ranch in the old tractor tire in the backyard, were no doubt attacked by a raccoon. My cat, Susie, got sick and had to be put to sleep. The baby chickens I got for Easter grew up and Dad gave them to a farmer friend who said later that they were the best-tasting hens he'd ever eaten. I'd decided long ago that pets just broke your heart so I never had any as an adult.

Not only that, but when my daughter, son and then my sister all got cats at various times, I took delight in letting them know my feelings. I'd jokingly end my letters to them by saying, "Step on the cat's tail for me." I renamed my daughter's cats each time I'd visit. August and Gabriel became Hitler and Satan because they were rascally beasts who jumped up on the dining room table or kitchen counter or nestled inside my suitcase flinging my clothes hither and yon. I definitely was not a cat fan.

But when my sister's e-mail arrived about Jasmine, I couldn't think about anything else, not about my new book, or my trip to Florida coming up the next week, or even the adventures Anna and I had planned for the rest of our week together. No, all I could think about and feel was the pain my sister and her children were feeling.

I wrote them a short note, apologizing for my teasing during the past year about their little cat. I told them how sorry I was that she died. I remembered two other friends who'd been at my house the week before and how they tearfully shared that their beloved dog "Buster" had died a few days earlier. Buster was old and quite ill and ready to go, but still, I was amazed at the depth of their grief.

I learned a lesson the day Jasmine died. I learned that the pain of losing a beloved pet is so intense that it can be physically debilitating. I also learned that the pain our loved ones experience can easily over-shadow our own joys. And that's as it should be. I honestly wish I could have been there for Jasmine's funeral. I would have cried with my sister and her family and held them close. My teasing and grousing days about other people's pets are over.

(Lorenz is a mother of four, who, after 30 years of parenting, is now an empty nester who spends most of her time writing and giving speeches.)

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