Samantha was with us even before Aaron was born. Rescued about 16 years ago after a hardscrabble life on the streets, she was such a feisty, tough customer, she could scare the fur off our Golden Retriever with little more than a hiss in his direction. Indeed, Romeo would literally back out of any room if she was in it.
From the time we brought Aaron home from the hospital, Samantha was NOT his biggest fan. She took one whiff of the tiny infant in the carrier and slunk off, no doubt huffing to herself. And the non-relationship didn't change until the last year of her life, when she occasionally allowed Aaron to pet her or lie down next to her and talk to her. Even so, though, when it became apparent over the last few days of her life that the time to say goodbye was rapidly approaching, Aaron's reaction was disturbingly indifferent. When I told him we would have to take Samantha to the vet to be "put to sleep" soon, his response was, "Sweet! Now we can get another dog -- and another cat!" Yikes. It's moments like that that make me wonder if the "empathy chip" will ever work properly.
Imagine my surprise, then, last Tuesday when the moment finally came, Aaron came down the stairs, sat down next to her, petted her gently, and with great sincerity and feeling, said the following:
"Goodbye, Samantha. I love you...I'll always love you. I'll never forget you. I hope you have fun in heaven."
Then he kissed her sweetly on the head, and as I stealthily wiped my tears away and proceeded to put Samantha in a padded box for the ride to the vet, he headed back upstairs to his waiting video game.
I have to accept that Aaron may never be the type of boy who wears his feelings on his sleeve. But when the chip works...it works.
Samantha
1995-2013
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