From the Editor’s Desk: Transitions (Premium)

Some milestones in life are obvious, while others are subtle and perhaps not recognized in the moment. Other times, it’s unclear: Something is changing, and it may trigger profound change. Or not.

Getting married, finding out my wife was pregnant for the first time, and being present at both of our kids’ births are among the major life milestones I can summon instantly. These were obvious, slap-in-the-face wake-up calls. And while each was uncertain enough in their own ways in that it wasn’t clear what the future would bring, that life was changing couldn’t have been telegraphed more clearly. There was whatever life was before those moments. And then life afterward. A different life.

And then life progressed. We moved around a lot, had kids, and then didn’t move again for many years. The kids grew up, turned into independent people with unique personalities, and our oldest graduated from high school and went to college in a different state. And then we suddenly found ourselves moving again, this time to Pennsylvania, and unexpectedly. It was like riding a bike, I joked at the time, like exercising a muscle you’d forgotten about. But it was also a transition into a new phase, a big change. It was, I also joked, a bit more bitterly, like another nail in a coffin, another reminder of mortality.

And then our younger child graduated from high school, and she too went to college in a different state, not just different from our state but different from where our son was. Our son who, in each passing day, it seemed, was turning more and more into a man, a person I loved because he was my son but liked, liked to be with, because he is a good person. And our daughter then did the same, but differently, a person I love but also like. One more nail in the coffin, I would sometimes say out loud, to no one’s amusement. A new phase, a transition.

In 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic stole something from all of us, but it also triggered a mass rethinking of what’s important in life. And that year, while horrible, was also wonderful in some ways. The kids came home, not just for a long weekend or holiday week, but for months at a time. It was the best year of our dog’s life, as she got at least two walks every day, and she was very much of the “more the better” mentality when it came to having family around. I guess I am too, come to think of it.

For my wife and me, the pandemic was both more of the same—we had been working from home for many years by that point—and also an inspiration to make a change. We didn’t know what that change would be, were in fact planning to just get back to life as we knew it, when we discovered that we couldn’t. The home swaps we intended to restart in 2021 were pushed back because the United States wasn’t allowing visitors from Europe that summer. And through a series of events that I’ve already described, we visited, revisited, and then bought an apartment in Mexico City with half-formed ideas about somehow splitting time between there and the US.

But life is complicated. We had pets, two cats and a dog. And that added additional stress, work, and cost to each of our trips to Mexico as we filled the apartment with furniture and other necessary items, made whatever upgrades, and tried to figure out a schedule that made sense. We have family in the area here in Pennsylvania, and with our own kids gone, we would put the dog in a kennel and lean on nephews and nieces, each going through their own life transitions by finishing high school and then heading off to various colleges around the country, to take care of the cats. This was good for them—we pay them, of course, and in more recent years, some have stayed in our place for weeks at a time—and necessary for the cats. But schedules are difficult to reconcile, and it doesn’t always work out.

We’ve always had pets. And these pets are tied to so many transitions.

I grew up with dogs and cats, plus the occasional rabbit and turtle. And among my awful growth moments was seeing one of those cats get hit by a car when I came home to my parent’s house late at night as a teenager and holding his body in my hands, covered in blood and unsure what to do. Fortunately, he died quickly. But this was an early “life is different now” moment, one I’ll never forget.

In 1990, I moved into an apartment with a cat named Sammy a few months ahead of my wedding, and I still smile when I think about how he would jump up onto the screen door and hold on like a mountain climber so he could see outside, swinging with the door as I opened and closed it. Sammy stayed with my parents when Stephanie and I went on our honeymoon, and my mother fell in love with him and asked if she could keep him. We said yes because it was clear Sammy was lonely during the day when we were at work, and he enjoyed hanging out with mom’s golden retriever. It seemed like the right thing to do.

A year later, friends gave us two cats, brothers, one black and one white, who we named Freddie and Barney. Each bonded to one of us, and when we moved to Arizona two years later, we had to undergo a complicated series of steps to get them out there. Long story short, Steph and I drove to Arizona over the better part of a week, while the cats stayed with my parents’ next door neighbor. We were only in Arizona for a few days before we flew to London to stay with my father, who was living there at the time, for three weeks. We had friends also moving to Arizona who drove out while we were away, and they stayed at our condo there (which was owned by my father) while they found their own place. My parents put the cats on a plane to Arizona the week before we came back, and our friends picked up them and brought them to the condo.

And then we flew back to Arizona. We hadn’t seen the cats in a month, and I was silently wondering whether they’ve even remember us. But when we opened the door to the condo, Barney, a tiny white fur ball who was nosing around the blinds at the far side of the building, looked up, saw Stephanie, and immediately raced for her, leaping in the air and into her arms. I guess he remembered. It was sweet.

The cats were there when our son Mark was born, unsure what to make of this loud, smelly whatever it was in the basket we brought back to our first house. They flew to Boston with us when we moved back home in 1999, and they lived with us, and Mark, and then Kelly, in our two homes in Dedham. Freddie developed diabetes, which I assumed would be the end of that. But my wife instead spent the next several years giving him insulin with a needle and dealing with the hazardous material collection that required. Then, one day years later, Freddie started falling down repeatedly and was lolling around randomly. This was it, we thought, he’s finally going to die. So we brought him to the vet, only to discover that his diabetes was cured and he was having a reaction to the insulin. He lived another several years, diabetes (and insulin) free.

When those cats did pass, we allowed our kids to have their own life moments by coming to the vet to say goodbye. The first one I remember clearly: My kids were crying, my wife was crying, the people in the waiting room were crying, and by the time we left, every single person in that building—the vet, the other employees, and me—were all crying. But it was the right thing to do.

And then we got two more cats, sisters, for Christmas. The kids named them Dasher and Dancer after the holiday, and they’re still alive today, 16 years later. Which makes them grand old dames from a cat’s perspective. They’re still incredibly healthy, but they aren’t kittens, and the bigger of the two has trouble just getting on the couch now. These cats have seen a lot. They moved with us to Pennsylvania in 2017. And they moved with us to the apartment and then our current condo in 2023. They grew up with Mark and Kelly and watched them both leave home in turn. And they enjoy the times the kids are home as much as we do, sleeping with them and just hanging out with them each time.

The cats endured us getting a dog, Daisy, in late 2017. They stayed upstairs, protected by a child gate on the stairs, for three weeks before tentatively venturing downstairs and then slowly reclaiming the house. The dog, being a dog, was delighted by the cats, maybe too delighted.

And after a lot of hissing and nose rakes with claws, they all settled into an uncomfortable truce in which each would claim my wife or me at night while the other pets looked on jealously. The bigger of the cats, Dancer, eventually befriended Daisy, and the two would take naps, play, and roll around on the floor together. Unbelievable.

Daisy was old when we got her, and she passed away in late 2022, sadly while we were in Mexico. Her passing was troubling but also a relief. She had been slowing down and had suffered a seizure, and in addition to being expensive, putting her in a kennel so we could go away didn’t feel right. I wish we could have been there for her when she went, we all do. But she knows she was loved, and that she hit the jackpot when we took her home with us. And that she has an improbable little cat buddy who probably still misses her.

Since then, my wife and I have thought about the future a lot, about a time when these cats, now old and slow, but also needy and personable, would themselves pass. And then we could … I don’t know. Transition into something, a new phase. With the shackles off, we could do what we’d been planning since 2021 and split our time between Mexico and Pennsylvania like we’d discussed. Or whatever.

But the cats, as noted, are healthy. Oddly healthy. Each time we bring them to the vet, they tell us how no one would believe how old they were, that they just don’t see cats like this very often. I joke that this isn’t what I want at all, because that’s what I do. But the truth is, I love animals. I don’t wish them harm. They have been anchors, in some ways, preventing us from doing something new. But also important parts of our lives. Constants over so many years.

Our daughter will graduate from college this year, but she’s also continuing with her education because, as I joke, we have infinite money and why not. (There’s a lot of joking as a coping mechanism around here, I’m suddenly realizing.) She’s been living with her best friend and roommate for almost her entire time in North Carolina at college. But because her next school is in Virginia and her roommate has graduated and gotten a job, they needed to make a housing change this summer. My daughter had to find a place of her own with short-term accommodations, which she did. And then she told my wife something interesting.

Kelly’s roommate had gotten a cat a couple of years ago, an older cat with various issues, and two have been caring for her ever since. This followed my son getting his own cat a year or two earlier, an event that triggered a funny episode on a family Zoom call when Kelly suddenly burst out with, “Mark, just tell them!”, causing my wife and I to instantly think his girlfriend was pregnant. (Talk about transitions. We’re not ready for that one.) But he had just gotten a kitten. Thank God, we laughed, relieved.

Anyway, with Kelly moving into her own place, she told Steph that she was thinking about getting “two older, bonded cats.” My wife responded that she knew just the cats, and that Kelly had grown up with them: Dasher and Dancer. This was what Kelly had wanted, as it turns out. She just didn’t think we’d say OK. But we’d been thinking about this day for the past year or so. And we collectively agreed it was the right thing to do.

That said, the cats have bonded with us. They have their rituals, some cute, some annoying, and rigid daily schedules as most pets do. They do not handle change well, seem almost traumatized every time we come back from Mexico, even though someone is with them every single day and giving them attention. I want them gone, in some ways. But not so much in others. And I worry about the impact this change will have on them.

But life progressed, as it does. On Monday, Kelly and her now-ex-roommate but still best friend drove here from North Carolina. And this morning, they drove off. With the cats and whatever assorted gear. We had gotten some drugs from the vet so they would sleep during the 7 to 8-hour drive. I’m sure the next few days will be confusing for them.

Like the cats, we have our own rituals, things we repeat again and again without change. One of them unfolds each time one of the kids leaves after a visit. We say goodbye out front and watch them drive away. Steph always waves as they go, so I do as well. And when they reach the corner to turn, they roll down the car window and wave back; we just see a hand pop out of the window from a distance. Kelly and her roommate both did so this morning, in the pre-dawn morning. And while we had the same wistful mixed feelings as we always do when they leave, this time was even weirder.

And just like that, something changed. It’s not clear yet if this is a big deal or even a permanent change. I can imagine things not working out, we’ll see. But we got what we wanted … and we got what we didn’t want. We feel weird about it. We hope the cats will be happy, and that Kelly will be happy. But it’s difficult not to wonder how this changes our lives, too.

The shackles are off. And now it’s up to us to take advantage of that. Or not.