Hey Nonny

Cara makes her home in the Midwest. Once, while playing some word games with a bunch of other ladies, the question was asked of each player, if someone were to write a biography about you what would the title be? The response she would always regret giving was “Tired.” If she had the opportunity to amend that response it would be, “Cara Doesn’t Do Sexy.”

A favorite quote from this past year of my life as a mother of four:  “I’m sorry to tell you Mr. Davis, but Marbles has passed away.” Marbles was our goldfish. And my boys would tell you, the one and only pet we have ever owned. Caleb, seven years old, really wanted to bring Marbles home from a fundraising event we attended where all the tables had goldfish in pretty, dollar store vases, featured as centerpieces and auction items. He sat with his face in his hands, elbows on the table, staring at this fish all night making little comments regarding its future. He wondered who would get to take the fish home, and if I noticed how pretty the fish was. He thought out loud that whoever got to buy it should name it Marbles.  I caved when with his chubby little cheeks still in his hands and his eyes still staring straight at that fish—he said, “Mommy, I think Marbles loves me.”

I’m not made of steel you know. I had to let that boy’s wish come true. When my darling husband heard about our purchase/prize, he predicted it would live for three days. The fish lived for exactly three days, and upon informing the boys that Marbles had died (naturally darling husband was out of town for this moment and I was alone in comforting the comfortless), my four year old asked me through alligator tears, “Mommy, did you kill it?”

Turns out I probably did, but truly, it was not on purpose—something to do with chlorinated water. It seems to take all the skills I possess just to care for the children, and said skills do not extend to other living things such as fish and plants. Just ask any of those cute African Violet plants the grocery stores sell that made it into my cart over the years. Try as I might I couldn’t keep those things alive. The above quote was the subject line from the e-mail I sent my husband while he was out of town and unreachable. I thought he ought to know about our one and only pet, and I needed him to call home and vouch for me with our four-year-old that I really didn’t mean to kill the fish.

My husband loved the cat he grew up with. When Bette (the cat) got ill and started leaving half digested piles of Meow Mix around the house, it became my husband’s job to grab the heaving cat and get her outside before the piles were left inside. On any given day, I am told, one could drive by his childhood home and see a heaving cat come flying out the front door. Stephen was a compassionate boy, I would imagine it was tough to get a convulsing cat out the front door gently while still attaining the ultimate goal of the Meow Mix not ending up on the carpet. My WWII era mother-in-law took pity on the cat and thought she would at least drive it over to the vet school to see if something could be done about it. In her day families didn’t pay money for pet healthcare. Same was true of my wonderful, same era, father-in-law. So it was understood that no one was to tell dad about the money spent on Bette the cat, even if it was only at the vet school. This was the 80s after all. One night my father-in-law, who was serving as the local stake president at the time and often received calls if a member of his congregation passed away, got a peculiar call from someone. “Mr. Davis,” said the person on the phone, “Why yes!” my friendly father-in-law replied. “I’m sorry to tell you Mr. Davis, but Bette has passed away.” He stood for a minute trying and trying to think who Bette could be. Finally he replied in his bellowing friendly voice, “Bette who?!” The vet incredulously replied, “Why, Bette your cat, sir.”

The question of whether or not our family should acquire what my son qualifies as a “REAL” pet, aka dog or cat, comes up often. Tears are usually involved. Marbles and Bette, as well as many other pets that have touched our lives, have bearing on the answer our tearful children get from us.  I distinctly recall a friend, who had several young children at the time, buying a dog, and a few weeks later we saw that very same dog on the local newscast’s nightly adopt-a-pet segment. True story. I took that as a lesson for my own life. I’m still trying to get over the fish that passed on in my care. The thing is, I take my children to the zoo, and the part of the zoo they can’t get enough of and really do love the most, is riding the train. I think that says something about our potential for pet ownership. We have come up with a solution that we think we can live with. We have started a savings account for each of our children. It is designated to either pay for college or the therapy they might need after their parents deny them the chance to own a “REAL” pet, you know, other than the neighbor’s dog whom they still don’t willingly pet. Sometimes parents just have to go with their instinct on these things.