It was all somewhat abstract until we went to the vet and saw Minnie’s stump, this is where reality came knocking and grabbed Maria and I by the throat. We have both been living with animals for some time, we have seen a lot of life and death, but Dr. Suzanne Fariello, the Cambridge Valley vet who performed the amputation, warned us that the sight of Minnie’s stump would be an “awakening.” It was.

I was a police reporter for some years in Philadelphia, Washington and Atlantic City , I saw almost every imaginable horror – mangled bodies in accidents, rape and murder and fire and drowning victims. I didn’t think Minnie’s stump would throw me, but it did, and Maria as well (she can speak for herself, I am sure she will.)

I am not comfortable comparing animals with children, it seems extreme to me. Clearly, there are some things that are the same. Maria and I spend much of our days caring for the animals on our farm – walking, feeding, brushing the dogs, picking ticks and fleas off of them, herding sheep with them. We brush the donkeys every morning, we give them treats and cookies, have the farrier and shearer come regularly. We check on the chickens, give them meal and supplements. We have a strong sense of ethics about the animals in our care – we give them the best possible care for as long as it is possible. We feed all of our animals the best food, feed and grain available, give them apple maintained pastures, fresh water, the best medical care. We are responsible for them, if not in the precise way a parent is responsible for a child, then a parallel feeling of love and nurturing.

We work to fill our lives with people, but in some  ways these animals are our lives, they are a connection between us, they affect our work – they are my work, they help form Maria’s art. I write about them every day, photograph them every day – an intimate experience. They have brought me to therapy work, they help define my blog. I felt sick to my stomach when I saw Minnie’s dangling leg and my heart broke to see sweet Minnie lying in her  crate with her freshly cut and shaven and stitched stump where her leg used to be. This would is not that ugly as far as wounds go, but it is jarring nonetheless, we sat a bit in shock for dinner, and then I asked Maria why she was so down.

She began crying, she said she felt so badly about Minnie, but she felt a bit stupid for feeling this way. Minnie is just a cat, she said, there are all kinds of people with stumps, she should be worried about them, helping them, she was not an animal nut.

I told Maria that this is why I have always loved her, because she has so much feeling, so much emotion, she cares so much for these animals on our farm, it is so natural for her to be upset at seeing Minnie and her stump this afternoon. I told her she should  accept the way she feels and honor it, not trash her feelings and apologize for them. One day, I said, you will get to care for some stricken people, you will love them just as much as you love Minnie, and I think we both know who I was talking about.

I said Maria should be proud of herself for caring so much about Minnie, for empathizing with her, for wondering how Minnie would fare on three legs, how she would feel. Minnie is lucky in many ways, I said, and I imagine the next weeks will be about your caring for her, helping her heal, loving her back to her life. Do not dishonor your feelings, I said, do not speak harshly of them, they are what makes you such a remarkable woman. Maria is already plotting Minnie’s care – one crate in the house, another in her studio, stockpiling cat litter and fresh Fromm’s salmon meal. She is planning to hold Minnie in her lap when she can, keep a hood on her, watch her so she doesn’t hurt herself or her healing stitches. There is no doubt she will guide Minnie to the other side of this, and what a wonderful thing that is.

I am not able to show the emotion Maria shows, I have hidden mine for too long, for too many years, I was never around people before who permitted it or understood it, and neither was she. But she kept her heart intact, even as people tried to batter it down. Minnie is coming home tomorrow, and I think we will continue our lives and our work, of course, but also devote ourselves to giving license to our feelings and emotions, to respecting them and accepting them. Minnie’s stump has me in a tumble already, and I look forward to getting  used to it, getting comfortable with it, accepting the dignity of suffering and the reality of life.

So life goes on, another chapter. Minnie’s stump has become a character and reality in my life, I will get used to it over the next few days, I am not ready to photograph it close-up, I perhaps will never be.

One thing is quite similar about having cats and having children, we sometimes think we can shield them from life, hide them from it’s reality, keep them from suffering. We are inevitably jolted back to consciousness. We awaken to our own helplessness and insignificance.

Watching Minnie purr in her crate and struggle to get her head into Maria’s hands, I remembered the night I found a dying Rose lying by the back door at Bedlam Farm in a pool of vomit and waste, shaking and struggling to get outside. As clear as anything, I heard her calling out to me through the night, “help me.” And I did. And I will. That is there great gift to us, if we are open to us, they challenge us to become better human beings.