It’s the love between a husband and wife. It’s a mother’s love for her offspring. Unconditional love is being loved for who we are soul deep, despite our expanding waistlines, our spreading hips, or other outside facades. It is the unwavering love of our four legged friends, our cats or our dogs. 

Last week I put one of my cats to sleep. He would have been 17 years old next month, which is over 100 in people years. It was bound to happen because of his advanced age, but it did not make my decision any easier. After all I saw him being born. Well I peeked through my fingers, and asked my next door neighbor who served as unofficial midwife, “is it out yet?’ She and I had taken turns feeding his mother who was a stray, so without acting, well – catty, we considered ourselves to be family, thus finding ourselves involved in the birthing process.

I've had pets my entire life. My sister and I bought home so many strays when we were kids that our mother threatened to put us all out. Still every time she turned around, there was yet another cat that had ‘followed us home, so we just had to keep him.’ Never mind that him was sometimes a ‘her’, and my sister who was a regular tomboy had to climb a tree to ‘rescue’ said cat, enticed it home with food.

Cats with their independent natures have forever owned my heart. And each and every one was special in his or her own way. There was Seiko a small, jet, black cat and Sake, a black cat with a white eye patch, whom I adopted upon my return from Okinawa, reminding me of the three years that I lived there as a soldier. There was Muffin and Midnight, two Persian-mixed kitties that my sister shipped to where I lived in Oklahoma, who with orders courtesy of Uncle Sam, was bound for Europe. Midnight with the kinky fur, squished in little face and sweet disposition lived almost 12 years, Muffin, nearly 13.

Phatty T so named because of his wide girth, even as a kitten, was truly special, and wrapped his paws around the heart of even a macho guy like my husband. One of six kitties, he got into everything. He climbed curtains and once hid in a vase awaiting silk flowers, with only his little head showing. When I threatened him with rolled up newspaper, he would run to hide under the couch. Unfortunately the only part hidden would be his head, his tail end remained sticking out. How could I spank anything that cute?

He became Muffin’s shadow after Midnight passed. Separated from my spouse, both by distance and emotion, the two of them snuggling in my lap at night comforted me, and kept the nocturnal demons at bay. Their soft fur absorbed the tears that I hid from friends and family. After all what other friend would allow you to shed tears anywhere near their hair? Who knew that unconditional love was a wet nose under your armpit?