Cats

I like to think of myself as toughened by habitual exposure to the cruel and senseless behavior of those who abuse alcohol but every one has a soft spot, and mine is cats. No, this doesn’t mean I am any less an advocate for those of my own species affected by substance abuse, but maybe because incidents that involve a drunk and a cat are less common they invoke a more visceral response. Regardless of why, these two stories of very mean drunks from last week really irritated me.

Drunk dad forces children to kill family cat.

Drunk man kicks girlfriend’s cat to death.

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Thing 1 and Thing 2 are the mixed breed black cats I’ve had since the first full year of my recovery. If the names don't ring a bell I suggest a little Dr. Seuss to refresh your memory, they earned their names early on in life to the detriment of my first apartment after treatment. I picked them up from an animal shelter in 1995 choosing these two over all others not because they were cute and cuddly, but because they were hanging upside down from their cage not content to lie around in their own poop all day- they wanted something better.

As a nonjudgmental support team, they have played a vital role in my recovery so much so that I have referred to them before as my sober cats. Especially for those new to sobriety, I think pets are a much better idea than people relationships because of the unconditional love they offer and absence of any emotional backlash or personal problems that may threaten the priority of recovery. Always home, happy to see me, and willing to listen… cats (and dogs) have little downside.

But as the title suggests, I have been saddened lately because the end is near for Thing 2.

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