Happy Birthday Superman (and Batman, and Spider-man, and Wonder Woman, and …)

I’ve been reading comic books for the better part of 33 years, and as a kid I remember DC Comics having this column each month called “Ask the Answer Man!” I think the writer of the column was Bob Rozakis or something along those lines, and readers could submit questions for him to answer—hence “The Answer Man”. Anyway, one time someone asked him what Superman or Batman’s birth date was, and his answer was pretty sensible and something I’ve always remembered. He gave a date of February 29th. Now, why would he have picked that date? Well think about it: Superman has been around since 1938. Batman came along the next year. Even Spider-man, who was considerably younger, premiered in the early 60’s, and would be in his 40’s in “real life”. How do these guys stay so young looking? Well, it’s because they only have a birthday once every four years! Try not to think too hard about it—but it is fun to think about nonetheless.

Saying Goodbye

I had a cat. Her name was Sneakers. We named her that because she had four white paws. As a child, my family had had a beloved cat for years named Mittens for the same reason, so this was sort of a way of honoring her memory. Anyway, my wife and I had been married for about a month. We were living in Plattsburgh, NY, where I was scheduled to begin graduate school in the fall. We found Sneakers in this tiny, out-of-the-way pet shop around the corner from one of the malls. She was this little gray tiger in with a couple of other kittens. I remember that she had huge ears relative to the rest of her body, and when we stood there looking into her cage she reached a paw out to us as if to say, “Pleased to meet you!” or “Pick me! Pick me!” –That’s all it took. My wife and I were sold. We brought her home that day. I can remember how we would be eating dinner, and suddenly the tablecloth would stiffen on one side. Seconds later, Sneakers would have clawed her way up to pay us a visit. Then there was the time I came home to find that she had gotten herself so tangled up in one of her cat toys that she may well have choked herself if I had arrived later. As a kitten, we would take her in the car with us if the weather weren’t too hot or too cold. Most often she would curl up in the back window, and take in the world.

Grad school ended after two years. Sneakers grew into those big ears, and she came with us to a rental house for a year, then our first home for six years, and finally to our current home, which we moved to just before 9/11. We brought other pets into our home—a second cat, a couple of dogs, various fish, and eventually some horses (well, those last ones never officially lived in our home, but you get the idea). But of all of them Sneakers held a special place in my heart. She was like our first child.

Of course, the heart-wrenching reality is that cats have a much shorter life span than people. These past couple of years I noticed that Sneakers was slowing down. She always had gray and white hair, so it wasn’t as if you would notice her aging in that manner. Around November, we noticed that Sneakers was visibly declining. She hardly got up and walked around. She wasn’t eating or drinking much, and when she did drink it was like she couldn’t get enough. She seemed disoriented, like she wasn’t really sure what was going on around her. She began to seclude herself, which had always been a sign of discomfort on her part. I knew she was old (over 15), but I didn’t want her to suffer. So on December 18th, I called the vet’s office, and brought Sneakers in. On the drive there I was wavering between the thought of this being her last trip and the hope that maybe things weren’t that bad. Within a half-hour, my worst fears were realized: Sneakers kidneys had shut down, she was in pain, and the prognosis was very poor. I cannot explain the agony of making the decision to end a friend’s life. –To have them put to death in order to ease their suffering. It was not a decision I took lightly. For several eternal moments in that examination room, I fought back tears while my mind raced for some sort of alternative. But I found none. The choices were to let Sneakers waste away in pain over the next few days as her body failed her, or to have the Vet painlessly end her life here and now. I decided not to prolong her suffering.

The Vet came in, I made my choice, signed some papers (It felt like signing a death warrant, even though I knew I was making the best out of two lousy choices), and he asked if I wanted some time alone before he did the deed. I was thankful for that. In those last few minutes that seemed to last forever while at the same time ticking away all too quickly, I got down on the floor, and tried to get Sneakers to come to me. As I had mentioned, she often seemed disoriented in those last days. Whereas in the past she had always readily came, toward the end she had been reluctant to do so, probably because she felt so awful. I looked down at her, wishing I could explain to her what was going to happen to her and why I had made the decision I had. I wish she could have told me that she was okay with it. Anyway, in our last minute together—the last time I would ever see her—I rubbed my fingers together like I always did, and Sneakers came over to me. I pet her and hugged her and gently kissed her on the head. I whispered, “I’ll see you again.” –And in that moment I believed wholeheartedly in Heaven and all that stuff about being reunited with loved ones who had passed beyond the veil. I believed it more than I think I ever had before in my life.

I handed Sneakers over to the Vet, and fought back tears and a runny nose while I paid and left. I had to break the news to our two children, and my wife held me as I cried on and off. A few days later the animal hospital sent a sympathy card, which I much appreciated. I loved that cat. I liked her more than I like a lot of people I encounter in my travels. And if you’re a “cat person”, you get this. You know right where I’m coming from. And if you’re not a cat person, and you think this is a lot of drama over “just” a cat, then pick your favorite colorful expletive and be so kind as to do that to yourself.

The last week in February, my wife and kids finally talked me into adopting a new cat. Her name is Belle, and she’s a moose of a cat. It was a hard sell for me. I wasn’t over Sneakers. I’m still not. But in saving the life of a cat from a shelter, I feel that I honor Sneakers’ memory. There are so, so many dispossessed animals out there. If you are considering getting a new cat, dog, rabbit, or some other pet, please consider a shelter first. You’ll get a new friend, and you’ll save a life too.