I lost my beloved Martha in mid-May, at the age of 15. She had lived with diabetes for almost three years, and had recently been diagnosed with chronic pancreatitis. I knew from my own research that pancreatic cancer was likely, so I tried to prepare myself for the fact that this was the last year of her life.

She was slowly declining, but it was hard to tell if it was illness, size, or general old cat crankiness that was creeping up on her. We cared for her as best we could, continued to give her twice-daily insulin, and tried to make sure she was happy.

One overcast day I came home from a quick pho lunch with Sam. I had barely been gone an hour, and yet things were very different from when I left. Martha was acting very strange, digging into the bookshelf and my office closet, almost as if she was looking for a place to die. Ramona, the feline Lassie if there ever was one, was very alarmed...and made sure I knew it.

I knew in my heart that this was it. The day I had tried so hard to prepare myself for was here, and I needed to deal with the inevitable. I calmly called her vet, rounded her up in to her carrier (being ever more thankful I had purchased a top-loading one a couple of years before), and drove her over there. By this point she was making odd noises and panting. I was probably doing the same, but I'm not sure.

X-rays confirmed that my girl was filled with cancer...cancer that had not been there in an ultrasound six months before. She was in so much pain, and there was really nothing we could do for her. Knowing myself, I knew I had to make a decision right then...no bringing her home to say good bye for a day or two, because I'd never want to bring her back.

I was able to call Sam to meet us over there, and the very kind vet (also a Shari) allowed me to hold Martha as she faded way from the injections.

We agreed that she would be cremated, and the animal hospital would handle the dealings with the pet crematorium for us. We paid our sizeable bill, which included the cremation fee. They said I should have her remains back in less than two weeks.

And I waited to hear from the animal hospital. After almost three weeks, I called over there asking if they knew the status of her remains. The response from the office staff was basically "go away, we don't care, we don't know, and we won't follow up." I had never had a good experience with the office staff there (in spite of some really great vets)...they always seemed far more interested in talking about their personal lives than actually helping customers.

In spite of my asking, no one ever called me back. So I called again a few days later. This time I was told that it was Friday, and the pet crematory was closed, so they couldn't call over there. They'd call me when she was ready.

And I waited. And waited. And I called again the next week. I was given a very non-committal "we're not sure" and a nervous laugh when I asked if she could possibly take the initiative to call the crematory.

At this point I was beside myself. It was now about four weeks and counting. Sam grew so frustrated that he finally called over there. I'm not exactly sure what he said, but some one called me back and gave me the same story about the crematory being closed on Friday afternoons. I asked him if he could possibly make a note to call them when they opened on Monday, and then call me back. He said it wasn't his job to do that.

Wow. That blew me away. I responded by saying I could appreciate that, but could he please help me out...and he said he'd see what he could do, and then repeated that it was not his job to handle these things.

The next week I finally got the call that Martha's cremains had been delivered, and that I could pick them up. I got some mumbling that Memorial Day had thrown a wrench in the schedule...which made no sense because that was three weeks before. Is there a rush on pet cremations around Memorial Day?

But it wasn't the length of time it took to get her home, or the fact that we had already paid them hundreds of dollars for this that frustrated me so much as the complete refusal of the staff to give a damn about my simple question. The lack of empathy and the complete inability of follow-through that I saw at the animal hospital floored me.

I expected platitudes and feigned sympathy from the non-animal lovers I encountered, but not the vet's office. And is it the inability to follow up on things, and the lack of self-motivation, that separates those who succeed in life and those who don't? Would it have killed any of the front office staff to take a minute away from their gossiping to call the crematory and find out what happened to my cat?

I've had shit jobs too, but I guess the fact that I always cared enough to make sure things were taken care of, no matter how trivial, why I am where I am and they are where they are.

(I'm not naming the animal hospital, but if you live in Silicon Valley I'll be happy to privately pass on the name as a place to avoid.)

180 degrees

Soon after we brought Martha home, we decided to honor her with a memorial stone in the back yard. She had been an indoor-only cat for most of her life, but when we moved into our townhouse last year she wanted nothing more than to hang out on the back porch in our tiny yard...so we wanted a little remembrance of her in her favorite place.

After researching a number of vendors who sell pet memorials online, I finally settled upon Artistic Etching. They were reasonably priced, and their work looked very nice.

Shortly after I placed my order I got a very nice (personal) email from the owner, Karen. Within just a few more days, she sent me a photo of my completed stone, with a notice that she was shipping it the next day.

And it arrived just a few days later, carefully wrapped. Enclosed were a thoughtful brochure and a very touching sympathy card. It was simply perfect.

Artistic Etching gets it!

I never expected much in the way of empathy or sympathy, except from my closest family and friends. I know that many people have not been blessed with the unconditional love of an animal in their lives. But every little bit helped. And the caring and follow-through of Karen at Artistic Etching did wonders for my grieving process.

Speechwriter/Ghostwriter Jane Genova wrote an insightful post about pet loss last month. She acknowleged that pet grief is coming out of the closet, and it is a very real thing that takes time to resolve. I appreciated someone I find so intelligent and thoughtful talking about something that was so close to home...and on her professional blog at that.

I'm at a point now where I can put aside my grief long enough to think about what how the very different actions of the animal hospital and the pet memorial carver will affect their respective businesses, as well as the lessons I can take away and I apply to my business every day.

Today we ate pho for lunch again, for the first time in over two months. And when I came home, everything was good. Ramona was fine, as was Roscoe. And Sam and I are getting there.

Currently playing in iTunes: Martha My Dear by The Beatles