Perfection and Perseverance: A Teaching from Wag A Lot 2

Wag A Lot 2 - this morning

Perfection: that nasty word that had dogged me my entire life. Being an accountant, perfection comes with the territory. I logically know that total perfection is not possible. If I were to track the number of times each day I made a mistake, I would have lists pages long. But I don’t like making mistakes whether it is in my work, my hobbies, my being. Where perfection goes a long way to achieving a level in excellence in what I do, it also has the ability to prevent me from taking risks out of fear of not achieving my self-imposed standards.

Being a perfectionist, one would think that I would surround myself with the shiniest and the best. Nothing is further from the truth for I gravitate towards the broken, the weak, the objects and people who have experienced the hard knocks of life. It is with that knowledge that I write about my new backyard squirrel, Wag A Lot 2.

Wag A Lot 2 is a young male that shows the signs of having lived a difficult life. His tail is amputated; his ears bitten and notched. Wag A Lot 2 scratches endlessly from the multitude of fleas and other assorted parasites that squirrels attract. Overall, he is a mangy, not very handsome squirrel among a group of silky, bushy-tailed peers.

I named him, Wag A Lot 2 in honor of the orphan squirrel I raised years ago who possessed the same physical limitations.  Wag A Lot 1 arrived in my home, barely five weeks old, with a raw stub of a tail severed when his home was cut down. I fretted over him, trying unsuccessfully to bandage the stump to prevent it from infection. By the grace of God the tail healed, and a thick cover of tail fur encased the stump. Wag A Lot 1 grew strong like his brothers and when the time came, was successfully released into the wild.

Wag A Lot 1 and 2 remind me that life doesn’t always play out the way I expect but not getting into the game is selling me short. Both squirrels found a way to live their lives despite their limitations. They didn’t shrink into the background, letting the prettier, more perfect squirrels get first access to food and water. They charged right into the fray. Wag A Lot 1 and 2 didn’t hide their flaws; they found ways to adapt.

This is a lesson that I need to remind myself each day. Life is a series of positive and negative experiences that most of the time, I have little control over.  It is impossible to completely avoid the bad but learning how to face the negativity in my life with compassion and gratitude is essential. Imperfection is what makes life worth living; if everything was perfect, there would be no art, no music, no love. We would all be islands unto ourselves. Perfect yes, but very bland and lonely.

When hanging on too tight is the wrong decision

Gracie in 2004

Cats have been a part of my life for more than thirty years, yet I am always taken by surprise when one of them shows signs of decline. Like most people, I tell myself that life goes on forever. That little kitten, fluffy and full of energy has grown old and now walks through that final period of life called dying.

In the past several weeks, Gracie has moved into this final stage. Her vigor that expressed itself through high speed runs up and down the yard has transitioned into a slow plod. Her toned body has shrunk into a skeleton with a fur covering. Food still appeals to her, but eating does not.

I have gone through this process before.  The rigid schedule of drug and Sub-Q fluid treatments dominated my calendar. Scores of half eaten cans of cat food littered my refrigerator. My life, as well as my cat’s, stopped being one of living to one of schedules and charting.

I recall how I extended Thomas’ life for two years with twice a day insulin injections. He nearly died one night, saved by the extraordinary work of an emergency vet and days of connection to an IV drip. I wasn’t giving up even when his neuropathy became so bad that he could no longer walk. Everywhere I went, Thomas came along even when it meant hours in a car, something under normal circumstances he would have thrown a fit at doing. Despite all my efforts, Thomas died, his body succumbing to the destruction that diabetes brings.

I watch Gracie as she sleeps in the chair and ask myself am I going to do this to her? What will she gain by delaying the inevitable? Why am I so afraid of death that I would put this poor animal through a cacophony of drugs, tasteless food and separation from the other cats in the house? Who am I really trying to save?

I have made the decision to let her live the remainder of her days as normal as possible. There will be no extraordinary measures, just plenty of love and attention. Gracie has lived a good, long life and deserves to finish it with dignity. It doesn’t make this time any easier for those of us who will remain behind after she passes on, but this is Gracie's journey. I'm choosing to be there for her, not stand in her way.