Love Me, Love My Dog—and Cats

The philosopher C.S. Lewis categorized love in four ways: affection, friendship, romantic love, and charity. Valentine’s Day cards run the gamut, addressing everyone from lovers to teachers to pets. I wonder if Lewis would think that cards for pets are symptomatic of corrupted affection, or storge, since pets can’t read. Do we buy them to indulge ourselves? Perhaps the best Valentine’s present for Rover is a dog biscuit or an extra walk on the Creeper Trail. I know that my cat Billy, who doesn’t know the difference between a Valentine and a Kleenex, would prefer a bowl of goat milk.

An economist could say these cards exist because there is a market for them. Capitalism entices people to buy the silliest of products, and these cards do make us smile. A veterinarian might hypothesize that they are subliminal reminders to be kind to animals. A psychological explanation could be that such a card earns romantic capital if a man wooing a woman buys the card and sets it where she can see it. Whose heart wouldn’t melt?

Better yet, a suitor could dispense with the cards and just fill his house with additional animals. My husband’s own affection for cats was a real draw during our courtship. When he told me how he rushed to Bristol Mall one evening to find a friend for his cat Malone, who was grieving because she had lost her platonic mate, I knew I had found a kindred spirit. Friendship, or philia, between humans often foreshadows romance.

Romantic love, eros, is a human bond so celebrated over the centuries that greeting card stock has got to be worth something. While it is possible to love someone romantically without first feeling affection, friendship, or even charity, the other loves help romantic love to blossom and persevere. Isn’t it nice to find an affectionate, friendly, charitable person before we entrust a heart?

When I visited Barry during our engagement, I would tote my cat Tutti so he could get used to Malone and Sweet Pea. Perhaps the most romantic thing Barry ever said during those days was “Why don’t you let Tutti spend the night?” When I drove away that evening, leaving my cat to settle in, I knew I would be home soon. Tutti never returned to my house, and I eventually moved in with him in our new home—and with my new husband and his pets.

We’ve been together a long time, long enough for some turnover. Sweet Pea, the store-bought cat, passed on. Then Billy showed up on the edge of our yard, a starving barn cat wounded from being half eaten by a dog. We took him in, got him fixed up, and then came Spot. Spot showed up after somebody dumped her out down the road. I never thought I could feel affection for a dog, but when she climbed into my lap that first night, I knew that I would not let her ramble on. Tutti died last year, and Miss Malone, approaching 19, wonders where he has gone.

All of our animals, including the short-lived hamster Hamtaro and every fish that has swum in and out of our lives, have taught us a little more about charitable love, or agape, which Lewis saw as an unconditional love that draws us closer to what is best about our human natures.

When Barry and I are old and gray, sitting by the woodstove on Valentine’s Day, we’ll surely reminisce about the creatures that once dwelled with us. I’ll get out of my rocker to find one of those whimsical photographs pet owners can’t resist taking. Then our new kitten will come bounding through the house to remind us to pour a bowl of goat milk because, after all, a pet deserves a little special treatment. Malone, having broken a record for longevity, will look up from her cushion and meow.

Felicia Mitchell. First published in Washington County News (Abingdon, VA), 11 February 2004, p. A4. WCN is a publication of Media General Operations. Copyright 2004.