When my daughter Hadley was 3-years-old she fell in love with a kitten. We had gone to the pet shop to buy fish food, and a kindly, cunning employee handed her a black ball of fluff. As I watched the tiny creature cuddle quietly in my rambunctious child’s arms, I fell in love too. I have always been a soft touch where pets and little children are concerned, and I was powerless against the combination of the two. When Hadley asked if she could have the kitten I didn’t hesitate in saying yes, and we took her home and named her Quinn.
In my life I have made impulsive decisions that I’ve later regretted. But saying yes to that kitten will never be one of them. Fifteen years later Quinn is a comforting and regal presence in our home, as if she knows all the important lessons that she single-handedly taught my child. Lessons I never could have imparted as effectively.
Quinn taught Hadley the importance of being gentle, and the joy of sitting still – not moving lest you disturb the warm and purring creature in your lap. Perhaps most importantly Quinn taught Hadley how fun it can be to take care of someone else. Emptying a scoop of cat food into a bowl was something Hadley could accomplish, with pride and delight, even at three. It seemed so valuable to for my only child to have someone in the house who was even smaller, and more fragile, than she was.
It was not by design that I had just one child. Of all the endeavors and relationships in my life, nothing has given me more joy than being a mother. I would have loved to have a house full of children. But that was not to be. I’m sure this is part of the reason I gave Hadley a Labrador puppy for her sixth birthday.
Our children’s pets become ours, don’t they? My mum used to say, “Dogs love mothers.”
Hadley did a good job helping to take care of “her” dog, but of course over the years, the dog has become mine, too. As has the second dog we brought home, another Labrador. Even now, when Hadley goes off to school in the morning, the dogs stand by the window watching until she’s out of sight. Then they content themselves with following me from room to room until she comes home in the afternoon.
But next autumn, Hadley won’t be coming home in the afternoons anymore. She’ll head to university, and the dogs, cat, and I will have a much longer wait until she returns home.
Everyone told me I’d be ready for this moment. One friend, during her son’s last year at home, kept exclaiming that she couldn’t wait for him to become independent. “I thought I’d be a wreck,” she said, “but instead I’m counting down the days.”
If I’m counting down the days it’s not with anticipation, but nostalgia. Photos of Hadley at different ages decorate our house. When I look at them, I wish all the people she used to be could come back to visit. I sift through memories of her as a baby and toddler. I remember pushing a trolley through the supermarket, Hadley in her little seat swinging pajamaed feet, me with an arm on either side of her. Often an older woman would roll her trolley past us and smile. “Enjoy it,” more than one of them advised me. “It goes by so fast.” I would nod as if I knew, but I could never really have known, how quickly the days of playgrounds and sleepovers would turn into her father and me, alone in the house with our collection of beloved if geriatric pets.
A colleague whose only child left home four years ago told me about the joy of returning to a two-adult household. “It’s magic,” she said. Half of me resists believing her. But then I acknowledge with pride that Hadley has been accepted to the university of her dreams and looks toward her future with confidence and excitement. It seems crazy to remember it now, but the night before she was born, I was overcome with sadness. My husband and I had been married for eight years, and this would be the end of our long stretch with just the two of us. How funny that I could have been unaware, even for a moment, of the joy and fulfillment that awaited me.
Sometimes the road ahead is so clear you can’t admit you see the end of it. It’s difficult to mark the conclusion of so long and precious a time. But the conclusion does come, whether or not we’re ready. Which is another reason I’m glad I said “yes” to every request for a pet. These furry loved ones of Hadley’s will be left in my care. Just as they gave her someone to take care of, I’ll be taking care of them. They’ll be keeping me company in missing her and waiting for the days when she’ll come back home to visit.
The Christie Affair by Nina de Gramont is published by Mantle, £16.99 in hardback