In a world where billions of animals live and die without receiving a single word or gesture of kindness, the fact that my cats lead a good life feels like a strike against institutionalized animal abuse: here are two creatures who escaped a life of hell.
Early in my career as a therapist, I worked with a woman trying to get
out from under the thumb of her husband. He decided how they spent the money
that both of them earned, what they did on weekends and on vacation, the
type of food they bought, and even the temperature in their home. I wanted
to smash the iron bar of control that man held over his wife's existence.
As an ethical vegan, I believe that all animals - human and otherwise - deserve
to live in ways that honor their needs, wants, and preferences. I was angry
about the restrictions placed on my client, just as it angers me now to know
that many cows raised for beef are forced to eat shredded newspaper and
chicken excrement - things they would never consume in a natural
environment - in their feed, and that mother pigs are kept in cages so narrow
during their three-and-a-half-month pregnancies that they cannot turn over
or take a single step.
Like many vegans, I grew up loving animals. Eventually I realized that there
wasn't much difference between the dogs and cats who shared our home and the
cows, pigs, and chickens other people killed so that I could eat them. As
someone who strives to avoid doing anything that might contribute to
another's suffering, I can't help noticing the parallels between my client's
marriage and my relationship with my two beloved cats.
I make almost every important decision about my cats' lives: what and when
they eat, where they live, the temperature of their home, and where or
whether they are allowed to roam. It is up to me to secure them veterinary
care, should they need it, and ultimately I might decide whether they live
or die.
Although I strive to keep them happy and to give them the best life I know
how, the life I create for them involves certain assumptions and,
necessarily, some limitations. I expect that when they were younger, my cats
would have enjoyed the freedom to go outside and hunt birds. Because I don't
want them killing birds or rabbits, and because I want to protect them from
cars, broken glass, fleas, and other neighborhood dangers, I keep them
indoors.
Most companion animals spend the majority of their lives being ignored by
their humans while the people sleep, work, watch TV, talk on the phone,
cook, and clean. I believe that my cats have a better life than animals in
zoos, in laboratories, and on factory farms. I don't put them on display or
cut or burn or poison them, and I would never sell their body parts.
Nevertheless, I can't help wondering whether this is a life they would
choose.
When I adopted my cats from the city shelter, possibly saving them from
being euthanized at an early age, I promised to take care of them for the
rest of their days, in sickness and health, to the best of my ability. I
provide them with food, a comfortable place to live, and my love. In return,
they keep me company in good times and bad and, in their way, they take care
of me. I hope they consider this a favorable exchange.
I hope my cats know they are deeply loved - and I sense, see in their eyes,
their love for me. In a world where billions of animals live and die without
receiving a single word or gesture of kindness, the fact that my cats lead a
good life feels like a strike against institutionalized animal abuse: here
are two creatures who escaped a life of hell.
But their existence depends, in part, on the suffering and slaughter of
others. Cats need some meat to be healthy. Are my cats' lives more valuable
than those of the chickens and fishes whose body parts they eat? Obviously,
the answer lies in whom you ask. I know my life is better with cats than
without them, but ultimately I have to ask myself, does my having cats
benefit them, or me? And, when they die, would it be right to adopt another?
Christine Jackson has been a therapist for fifteen years and maintains a private practice in Washington, D.C. She has been an animal advocate for over four decades.