On return from Dallas on Sunday, my sister informed me that she had my birthday presents from my parents and if I behaved this week I would get them on Saturday. Very funny. Then, as almost an afterthought, she mentioned that my cat Eddy had died. Eddy was an undersized kitten that I saved from a feral cat's litter in 1993. For some reason, neither of my parents called me when it happened and Amy was very nonchalant in her delivery of the message.
I can't help but be a bit irritated when I proclaim that I'm bothered by the death of a cat that I considered mine and having my sister telling me that "oh, that wasn't your cat anyway". It's as though the assumptions of how I will feel about a situation is actually how I will feel and when I say different, I'm told "whatever".
I am certainly guilty of misjudgements on the value someone places on an animal or a thing before. Specifically with Amy, who's frog had "red leg" and was prescribed a fairly expensive rounds of injections as a cure. When her frog was paralyzed and seemingly unresponsive, I advised her to allow the frog to die. I quickly realized that my words lacked empathy and apologized. My hope was that Amy would realize the same situation with me and Eddy.
Eddy had a good life with my parents after I moved away in 1998 and he lived a surprisingly long time for an outside cat. I will always remember the times when Eddy began to purr from a good pet that it was soon to be followed by a bite and an escape.