Taking Every Cat Captive

Partly to help out a friend, and also to acknowledge the pleasant companionship of our two felines, Isabelle and Cordelia, I reprint below a piece from the Spring 2009 issue of the Nicotine Theological Journal that followed the death of my first and my wife’s favorite pet, Skippie. Despite all their charms, our current cat models cannot compare with the original article. But thankfully they are a pleasant ectype of the archetype.

Soulless but Spirit-Filled

The first time I took notice of pet-death grief was when I ran into a cynical, sarcastic, and thoroughly unsentimental friend during a late night visit to the market for milk. He was clearly down – not full of the one-liners or antics that characterized his banter. When I asked what was wrong, this scruffy hard-edged man began to choke up. He explained that his family’s pet dog – some mix with strong German Shepherd lines – had died.

I was dumbfounded. Not only could I barely process the disparity between this emotional response and my friend’s normal demeanor, but I also had trouble understanding such affection for an animal. Granted, I had no pets growing up and so the experience was foreign. Still, as a person who took delight in all sorts of dogs and cats, and who always intended to acquire one once housing circumstances would allow, I was not completely without emotions for dogs or cats. I had cried as a kid over Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, and even Flipper.

Little did I realize then that the cat with whom my wife and I were then sharing space when my friend’s dog died would have a similar effect on me. When we put her down after eighteen years, I knew exactly how my seemingly cold friend felt. My wife and I cried for days, only consoled by memories.

Of course, people anthropomorphize pets in ways that hypothetical Martians would find strange. (One also wonders what the angels think.) And the effort to detect human ways and feelings in a cat can be as pathetic as sentimental. But even after discounting the human propensity for making creation and its occupants conform to man and his ways, the bond between pets and their care givers (“owner” implies a contractual relationship) is natural and even healthy. And it need not trespass into the eery world of pet cemeteries, the resurrection of pets, or even pet heaven. (Why do people never posit a pet hell? I guess that is where Michael Vick will go.)

Our pet’s remains now lie underneath a couple feet of sand and dirt, and a big piece of slate next to the home where she lived the longest with her peripatetic companions. Skippah arguably had the prettiest face and eyes of any feline we had seen (a faux Maine Coon), and at a playing weight of roughly seven pounds her entire life (except for the end when she dipped below four), she matched her beauty with an elegantly petite frame and bushy tail. She was always solicitous of sun light and at night the warmth of a lap or a lamp would have to suffice. Now what remains of her after six months is likely only bones and fur. Her material existence is virtually nil.

After she died the most palpable feeling was that of emptiness. How could such a little creature fill a three-story town house? It was as if we had removed a big couch from the front room. Upon walking into the home, we immediately detected the hole of not having another living being in the house. This emptiness was not confined to a room or space. The difference pervaded the entire house, from the basement, which was off limits to Skip, to the third floor where she only occasionally slept. In fact, comparing the loss of a pet to a favorite piece of furniture graphically highlighted the spiritual dimension of pet-having, and gave a measure of plausibility to human affection for, in H. L. Mencken’s terms, “domesticated live stock.”

A man may have many warm feelings for a recliner. He may recall watching a favorite team’s championship from the cushion afforded in that chair. He may remember watching his son take his first steps as a toddler. He may even look at various stains on the upholstery and recollect any number of juicy sandwiches or bowls of ice cream consumed from that comfortable seat. But a chair, no matter how many cushions and levers make it a part of one’s domestic delights, is inanimate. It has no life, no personality, no will. Its qualities are fixed and those can be arranged to suit the needs and pleasures of the sitter. The recliner does not change its user. When it wears out, the sitter will find another comfortable chair in which to enjoy reading, watching, smoking, conversing, and eating.

An animal is palpably different. It has a spirit and a personality and these features differ not only from inanimate objects but also from other critters of the same species. A companion of a pet must make allowances for the willfulness of the creature, from managing a cat’s waste to determining whether to leave flowers on the dining room table (and risk an overturned vase and harmful puddle of water). Some of this willfulness can easily be annoying. Even so, the point is that a creature with no more claim to a soul than a much beloved piece of furniture has a spirit and disposition that make it much more like a man or woman, boy or girl than an inanimate object or even a plant. In fact, the remains of a pet have no real use, but the parts of a chair could be turned into other useful objects. (Anyone for a neck tie made from the upholstery to honor the recliner’s memory?)

So even if an animal has no soul, even if it cannot worship its maker, even if it will not be resurrected either for eternal life or destruction – even if it is an it – it is way more spiritual than many of the creations with which humans share the planet. The proof text for this assertion comes from Psalm 49, a passage providentially read the Lord’s Day before we said good-bye to our beloved Skip. Twice in that Psalm of the Sons of Korah comes the refrain, “Man cannot abide in his pomp, he is like the beasts that perish.” On the one hand, this comparison is not meant to convey good news about the happy, well fed, and powerful man who, without his possessions has as much to fall back on as an animal. On the other hand, it does liken an animal to man, the crown of the created order. Granted, the beast is only as good as man without his dignity. But that is obviously an upgrade from those parts of creation without souls or spirits.

The consolation for those who lived with her is that Skip was full of spirit, an endless source of delight, and so fully worthy of affection. The anguish is that the object of our fancy no longer has the spirit that made her so adorable.


12 thoughts on “Taking Every Cat Captive

  1. Darryl,

    When dealing with pets I have taken comfort from II Samuel 12:1-7. If David was a man after God’s own heart, then a man who loves and cares for a pet is a man after David’s own heart.


  2. I still tear up when I think of the death of my cat Rocky almost 17 years ago. I appreciate the touching remarks.


  3. Yep, losing a pet is a terrible thing – in many ways worse than losing a human acquaintance (other than spouse, parent, child, of course). The absolute saddest day of my life was when my pet cockatiel died when I was 14. Sounds silly for a teenager to cry over a dead bird, but for the 3 years I cared for him we were virtually inseparable around the house. He got sick and eventually died within 24 hours – I was crushed, and it was years before I really recovered emotionally. Sounds crazy, I know, but I think everyone who has lost a beloved pet understands.

    I don’t believe pets have souls of course, but I wonder if we might spend eternity with them. If creation will be restored to its full potential one day, does that include deceased pets? I like to think it does…


  4. This was a nice piece. I remember Skip, and she was a good cat.

    I will say, while I don’t think that animals worship God, even Psalm 104:21 gives them credit for somehow acknowledging Him for their “daily bread.” Or, as the text says, maybe its just cats.

    RIP Skip


  5. This is off-topic, but since we are to be raptured today, it seems only appropriate to share Lutheran Satire’s celebration of the event!

    But then again, there seems to be a debate going on about today’s date being wrong. Some are saying that this is the right year, but the actual day is June 12 while others are saying it’s December 22… I suppose we can keep celebrating until someone gets it right? 😉


  6. Sorry for your loss, Darryl.

    I don’t really have a stake in this, but I had a professor as an undergraduate who (granted, was no biblical exegete) claimed that animals do have souls (albeit a non-savable kind) and cited Augustine as a precedent. He liked to point to evidence such as the fact that animals feel pain, and that pain is not a wholly physical phenomenon. Of course, that begs the question of how he knows that an animal feels, let alone what it feels… It was mildly interesting, but since it clearly presses beyond what God is pleased to reveal to us in Scripture, I’ll just leave it there.


  7. Nice memorial to Skippie and all beloved cats. I share those strong feelings for our furry friends. We said goodbye in 2009 to Lefty (domestic short hair) after 20 years. July 4, 2010 I had to put to sleep Moppet, the most beautiful and faithful English Setter ever. At 15 and half years old, there was nothing to be done but acknowledge aging and death in this fallen sphere. If the first Adam had walked in on me that afternoon, I would have punched him in the nose!

    Not that I would have done any better if I had been in the garden.


  8. Yeah, ok, cats are alright if you have (or had)the right one. In the past 19 years here in the foothills in central CA we have had more cats than I can recall- probably about 15. All of them were barn cats, they lived their entire lives outside. Most of them were kind enough to acknowledge human existence and a couple of them were downright friendly towards us. I don’t know what’s up with our current cat- she is either suicidal or is trying to kill me. Whenever I walk near the barn she intentionally walks back and forth in front of my feet. I either need to pick her up so I don’t step on her or lately I’ve taken up walking backwards a few feet to confuse her.

    I feel your pain in losing a close pet, we recently lost our favorite dog, Roo.


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