Grab the Cat

My sister Sophie murders her pets. She’s not a bad person, my sister. She just has her hands full. She runs a business, raises two children, takes care of an overworked husband, looks after the pet(s) and checks in on our mother and grandmother who are both in poor health. When times get tough and something has to give, the choice is easy: Get Rid of the Pets. Each time that I visit her house, I discover that a new pet has replaced the old one. Granted, I live 1,384 miles away from my sister and I only see her on special occasions -- which is usually only once every few months. But ... don't most household pets typically live for more than a couple of months?? Sophie’s pet murders started with the fish which was replaced with a bird which was later replaced with a guinea pig. I like the guinea pig. I have high hopes for him. “Auntie Stolie,” scream my nephews, ages 5 and 7, as I enter my sister’s house. Kisses and hugs ensue. (I love my nephews.) Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a cat crawl across the floor. “Who’s that,” I ask as I look at the cat askance. “That’s Scooby!” screams the younger nephew. “Scooby?” I look at my sister with raised eyebrows. Sophie quickly looks down, wipes her hands on her pants, says I‘ve gotta pick up the mail, and leaves the room. Apparently, the dear, sweet guinea pig only lasted eight weeks before he was replaced by Scooby the Cat. Several months later, I’m back home on another visit spending time with my nephews, talking to my brother-in law and catching up with my sister. I am happy that Scooby the Cat is still present and is still part of the family. However, that changes on Day Two of my visit. We put on our coats and prepare to run errands. “Oh,” my sister says as she looks around nervously, “grab the cat.” I am concerned. Why would anyone take a cat along on errands? I hope for the best. Maybe we are taking the cat to the vet? My sister immediately reads my worried expression. “Grab the cat,” she repeats in her I’m-the-Big-Sister-and-you’ll-do-what-I-say voice. I’m an adult. Thirty. But, I’ll always be the Little Sister so I grab the cat. Poor Scooby didn’t see it coming. Our errands that day included grocery shopping, stopping by the post office, and depositing Scooby -- an overweight, off-color and curmudgeonly cat -- at animal control. This is how Sophie does it. She is typically comfortably removed from the pet murders and either gives the pet away, actively encourages the pet to run away, or -- as with poor Scooby -- she has someone else take the pet to animal control. Until Shanti. Shanti the Dog, pet number eight, is a lovable yellow lab that lives with Sophie and her lovely family from the time that he is a two-month-old puppy until he is a nine-month-old puppy. I won’t go into the details of Shanti’s short time on the face of this earth. I will simply say that the dog died of natural causes and Sophie had the unpleasant experience of watching him die. It was too much for Sophie; it changed her. Now, she has a lovely dog named Jasper and it seems that she and the dog have an agreement: Jasper behaves. Sophie doesn‘t kill him. And, for all parties involved ... for now ... it seems to work.