I know this is going to sound silly, but my cats brought me back to the Catholic church. The two cats are Katharine and Grey Baby, and they were my mom’s until she died last July. They were my comfort while I was greiving, and they kept me busy. I could cry into their fur as much as I wanted (humans have their limits). When I was really down, they would play, and they would make me smile, They have unconditional love, which very few people are capable of. If I get to Heaven, I want them to be with me.
Here is a quote from
Dominion by Matthew Scully that I would like to share:
Many of us, when we pause to think on animals, fear that as our concern for them extends, our concern for each other shrinks. We hear this fear in the familiar complaint about all those Greenpeace types up there trying to protect baby seals, or out on the high seas throwing themselves between whaler and whale, and so on, but who don’t seem to care about people. Where is their compassion for the poor, or homeless, or the handicapped? Anything we give the creatures must be extra, the unwanted scrap tossed from our moral table. The French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre put this suspicion best: “When one loves animals and children too much, one loves them against human beings.”
Surely the interesting thing in that maxim is the inclusion of children, who though a world apart from the animals, are also vulnerable to human caprice and who seem to share with animals some natural bond, an instinctive kinship beautifully captured in William Blake’s poem “The Lamb.” The other interesting thing is its complete misunderstanding of love.
Since when does love ever diminish as we spread it around? Among humans it usually works the other way. So too in our dealings with the animals we know best.
When you bring a dog into the house, is he absorbing love and attention that would otherwise go to household members? Typically, if we treat the creature right, he or she has something to give back, and indeed many parents get pets in the first place so that the kids might learn to think beyond themselves and to care for other beings. Neither you nor the dog are ever confused about who’s running the show or who had dominion, except maybe when you’re away. You do not ask more of him than he can give, nor do you think less of Scruffy because he can’t rake the leaves or handle the family finances. You don’t even think of him as having “rights” and yet, useless as he is to the practical affairs of the household, over time he comes to fill a crucial place. He’s just sort of there, this furry funny, needful, affectionate, and mysterious being creeping around the house. Everybody in the end gains something, and when he or she is gone a little bit of love has been subtracted.
It is the same with animals generally. I once saw a television show called Wild Rescues in which two men of twenty or so were out deer hunting when they came across a doe drowning in a muddy river. Their videotape of the rescue showed them struggling for over an hour to save her. Finally they dragged her out and she darted off into the woods. On their own terms it was a completely irrational act–she could wind up in their gun sights the next day. And yet they seemed enormously pleased at the deed–“just knowing” as one of the men put it, “that we gave her one more day of life.”
On the same program you can see people rushing to the aid of beached whales and dolphins, orphaned seals, oil-covered gulls, penguins, and other sea creatures. The striking thing is how satisfied they all feel afterward. None of them ever describes embarrassed feelings of wasted time or of having cared too much about the stricken animal. A variety of programs have been devised in recent years involving the care of animals by troubled children, violent criminals, the handicapped, and the lonely aged.
Far from stealing away charity and compassion from the human heart, we are just now discovering the gift many animals have for bringing those qualities back to life.