As consultants, we sometimes find it challenging to always practice what we preach to clients.
For example, we often emphasize the need for our business partners to distinguish themselves from their competition, starting with their biographical sketches. Don’t just tell us what you do and where you went to school, we’ll say. Tell us something more personal.
In the spirit of that advice, I’d like to deviate from the normal and more strategic tone of my blogs and attempt to cathartically write about an event that dampened the holiday for my family.
After more than 10 years of being a daily constant in our lives, we had to put down one of our two cats.
I’m shaken and saddened by his loss even as I write this. On one hand, it seems silly – I don’t know why I’m this broken up. On the other, I know it’s normal and healthy to grieve for a pet that has passed away. After all, studies indicate that nine of 10 pet owners regard their pets as members of the family. We certainly did.
Other research shows that some people grieve as much for the death of a pet as they do after the loss of a family member. I’m starting to understand why.
Looking through the thousands of photos saved on our family computer from the last 10 years, I realized just how much our pets share in the stories of our daily lives. My wife brought orange-and-white Mario (who I named for Mr. Lemieux) and calico Coco (who she named for Ms. Chanel) home as kittens shortly after we were married in 2002.
I think part of my sadness stems from the fact that most of our story together has been their story too. They were with us as we learned how to grow as a couple. They were there when we had our first and second children. They followed us back to my hometown of Pittsburgh from their birthplace in northern Indiana. They settled in at my parents’ home two miles away when we learned our youngest son was severely allergic to cats. Harder still, they’ve become precious to our older son, who can’t wait to visit them on a near daily basis. 
So it was shocking and sad when Mario began losing weight rapidly for unexplained reasons a couple of months ago. His health rapidly declined this week and we knew he was in severe pain, although cats – and many animals – valiantly suffer in silence. The vet confirmed his ailment was terminal and humanely put him to sleep on Wednesday.
It will be difficult to visit my parents’ home without looking for Mario. I suspect I won’t be able to go inside for some time. As my colleague Jason – an animal lover in his own right – pointed out, these cats have been with me for nearly a quarter of my life. I’ve spent more time with them than many of my closest friends.
As we enter the New Year, I suppose some part of me will admit that events such as this help keep what’s most important to us in perspective. Nothing lasts forever. We must appreciate the relationships we have, cherish the time we have with loved ones and never miss the opportunity to tell close friends and family how much they mean to us, especially those we don’t see on a daily basis.
Nearly everyone reading this can relate to the loss of a cat or dog. All my colleagues have pets, so I appreciate their sympathy. I’m also sure the majority of our clients are animal lovers, most notably Bob Fragasso, who dedicates a significant portion of his time to the humane treatment and adoption of them.
The upcoming long weekend will help in the grieving process, allow for reflection and let us appreciate the time we had with him. Certainly, as many have pointed out, we are happy to have had Mario in our lives for 10 years rather than not at all.
Nevertheless, it’s painful now. I’ve seen his face the past few nights when I close my eyes. I’m just glad blogs are created via keyboard. Had I written this by hand, it would have been hard keeping the paper dry.
Let this be a small tribute to the impact that all Marios – feline or otherwise – have on our lives.
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Jeremy Church is an account supervisor for WordWrite Communications. He can be reached at jeremy.church@wordwritepr.com and on Twitter @churchjeremy.
