It was May 2020, and life was weird. We were home. ALL THE TIME. Our lives were virtual. Everything just seemed a little…off.

My oldest daughter had just moved back home, and she brought her three cats with her. THREE. Brian was certainly against the cats being inside, and I was not loving it, either. I pulled out an old dog kennel from the attic and locked the cats inside the garage. That would have to do for a while. The situation was as uncomfortable with the cats as it was with my daughter. Everything felt strained.

Over time, we played more and more with the cats, and we grew to love them all. Molly, Clover, and Bennett became additional members of our family, and their living arrangements filled me with guilt. I knew those cats wanted to roam and explore. Locking them up each night felt so mean. One night I had just finished cleaning the kitchen and was the last person downstairs. I was worn out. I decided to let the cats out. I went into the garage, opened the kennel door, and went to bed. My guilt disappeared.

The next morning I was woken up by Julie, who was distraught. She was crying and said something was wrong with Molly. I ran out to see her hiding, struggling to breathe. She was dying. I looked her over, but couldn’t see any obvious injury. Samantha and I immediately took her to the vet in desperation. Molly could scarcely catch a breath, crying the whole ride there. I called Brian to ask if he had noticed anything when he left for work, and he said he remembered running over a roller blade.

Oh no.

It wasn’t a roller blade. He had run over Molly…who was roaming free in the garage. The guilt that I had felt when locking up the cats was NOTHING compared to the guilt I felt now.

The vet had heartbreaking news. Molly was indeed dying. We could try to get her into emergency surgery which would unlikely save her, or we could put her down right there. I looked at Samantha. She was devastated. We decided to put her down. I watched as Molly took her last breath while Samantha stroked her back. It was agonizing.

Now we had two cats. I immediately moved the kennel to our patio. Clover and Bennett seemed happy to be outside, exploring. Several weeks passed. Every night I would get the cats and lock them inside the kennel. They hated it. They would cry and meow and protest. I did it anyway. But that old guilt creeped in again. Cats needed to roam, especially at night! The cats I grew up with were always outside. I felt so guilty when I locked them in. The guilt was too heavy, and I wanted some relief. So I stopped. A few nights went by, and those two were always there in the morning.

Until they weren’t. Clover missed breakfast.

I called and called and called her name. I walked into the park and throughout my neighborhood, calling for Clover. I even took her treats outside, shaking bowls of food and anything else I thought might entice her to come home. She never came back.

Bennett was the only cat left. We all loved Bennett. He would come up to you, rub against your leg, and then roll over so you could pet his belly. He was the sweetest cat. After Clover disappeared, I got rid of the kennell altogether. I let Bennett play outside, but then I would bring him inside before I went to bed. This pattern went on for another two months. On a particular hot night in August, Bennett was outside on the patio. I was up late doing dishes and getting things put away. I went outside to bring in the cat, and he didn’t budge. Hmmmm. I puttered around inside my house for a while longer. Two more times I went out to get him, and both times he refused to follow me inside. Did I need to bring him in? Bennett was living his best life, and who was I to stop it? I didn’t want to feel guilty about anything else. I was tired, so I gave up and went to bed myself.

Bennett didn’t come for breakfast.

My kids and went through the neighborhood, calling for our cat. I posted on my neighborhood Facebook group. Sadly, my neighbor called and let us know that he found cat fur and remains in his back yard. The fur looked identical to Bennett. Unbelievable.

In just four months, I had killed all three of my daughter’s cats. Even with all my run-ins with animals here in Texas, this was a new record. I felt as guilty as ever. I still do, to be honest. The summer of 2020 was a killer. Literally.

I’ve thought a lot about each decision I made before disaster struck Samantha’s cats, and each one had two things in common: I was feeling guilty, and I was tired. The best decisions we make never come when we are tired, or guilt-ridden. That’s one of the reasons that decisions made ahead of time are sound—our emotions stay out of it.

Guilt is a powerful emotion. It’s clearly one of my favorites since I default to guilt about a lot of things. However, I hate feeling guilty! It weighs me down and clouds my thinking, so I try to get rid of it as fast as possible. Unfortunately, that has led to many regrettable decisions…like being the catalyst for ending three darling cats’ lives, and breaking my daughter’s heart at the same time). It’s a much better idea to let guilt stay when it needs to and then let it go. Guilt doesn’t have to be your default emotion. That is a choice.

Tired decisions are also problematic. We can be physically tired, which leads to apathy. That’s a bad recipe when important decisions are on the line. Sleep and rest are just as important as being productive. There is no award for sleeping as little as possible. Rested people = good decision makers. We can also make ourselves tired by overthinking, overanalyzing, and under-deciding. Making a decision just to “be done with it” is a bad move. Those are not going to be the decisions you love, even twenty years later.

The summer of 2020 doesn’t need to be repeated. Stop making decisions out of guilt or when you are tired. Make your decisions ahead of time, well-rested and of a sound mind.

And may all your cats survive. ❤️

Guilty, tired decisions

Quilting your life

A few thoughts