Compassion

If you love somebody, set them free.  ~ Sting

Okay, I have always hated that Gordon Sumner, who lays claim to having been an English teacher before he became Sting, could so blatantly abuse the rules of grammar as he did in that line.  But I will try to focus on his intent rather than his skills as a grammarian.

I love my cat.  I am confronted with a harsh dilemma right now.  Cassie, at 12, has recently been diagnosed as diabetic.  I have tried insulin.  However, she will not eat, so insulin becomes problematic.  Although she appears healthy right now, she is losing weight because she is ketotic.  I have to make a decision within the next 24 hours as to whether I will put her down . . . or keep her alive while petsitters care for her in my absence.

On some levels, it appears obvious, doesn't it?  But it is not so easy to say goodbye to a cat who is still purring, being affectionate, lying outside in the sun . . . and not really "acting sick" at all.  If I were not leaving town in a couple of days, I would ride this out, wait for her to show me that she is in pain, and then do the right thing.

The flip side of that coin is that I risk her missing me, becoming ill while I am away, feeling lost and confused, or possibly dying without me here to see her through.

I know that her future, should I take the chance that she has one, will not be the same as the life she has known.  Cassie has always been able to come and go as she pleases, in and out through her "cat door" and dining on her Meow Mix whenever she chooses.  She has gifted me with mouse heads on the doorstep as well as disruptions to my gardening plans.  She has climbed up into the treehouse for summer afternoon naps, then joined me on the front porch swing for evening reflections.  She has located every odd crevice and corner for napping inside this house and pretty much taken over the kitchen counter as her domain.  She has also said goodbye to all of her family (except me) which included three kids, two dogs and her brother cat.  She has always been "a good cat."  And I have loved her.

Her future life would be one of twice-daily injections, monitoring, diet control, and a loss of the freedom she has always enjoyed.

So what does "compassion" tell me to do?  It might be simplistic to assume that the compassionate thing would be to "set her free."  I want desperately to believe that.  But her purr, her affection, her very being challenges that assumption.

I have no answer right now.  I will embrace compassion and trust that it will tell me what to do.