My pet Peeve

“I couldn’t leave him behind. I just couldn’t. I didn’t have much time. You know I just couldn’t.” I had just walked in, tired, and happy to have finally arrived. It had been a long trip, 102 hours to be precise; of a taxi, a train, 3 planes, and a last car. I had thought to take a bus instead of a taxi to reduce cost, but it just didn’t make sense.

“But it took you so much longer. And that’s not even thinking about all the logistics of it and the cost. You had to deploy an arsenal of organization skills I was unaware you possessed. You had me worried. Never mind that now, I’m happy you are home,” Mom was clearly proud that I had inherited her resourcefulness, even if it was for a something that made no sense to her.

“Um,.. thanks? I guess? I’m not sure if that's a bemused compliment or a bit of confused bewilderment,” I chuckled my own tired bafflement as I set him down and took my backpack off.

“Oof, what a relief! The closer I got to home, the heavier it got.” I rolled my shoulders and neck, stretching my arms above my head, crack, pop, snap … I was getting old I thought ruefully.

“Well darling, I guess it’s a little of both. Why would anyone in their right mind add 3 days and 2 extra stops simply for a…,” she said as she pointed where I had set him down, “pet? It boggles the mind. Why not find him a new home in his own country? Do you think he will be happy here? Where no one speaks his language?”

It’s at times like these that humanity’s incoherencies start to show! Most people consider pets to be possessions. Some even go so far as saying that pets do not have consciousness or emotions. Personally, I am not too sure about that. Truly, I am quite positive of the opposite, but that’s neither here nor there. What I mean to ask is this … as a possession, can a pet have a nationality? Is it possible for it to have an identity that is not linked to its owner’s? If they have language, can any human, in any country, understand and speak it?

These types of comments always make me stop and think a second or two. It is such a curious state of affairs, the way humans think about living things. And when I'm tired, I might stop for longer, but not this time.

“Mom, he has a name you know. And you know I couldn’t leave him there; you would’ve done the same.” I looked at her knowingly.

“I don’t know about that.” She turned to the kitchen, “How about a nice warm cup of tea?”

“I couldn’t leave him there, Mom. No one was truly willing to take him. They kinda said yes. You know, in a grudging way. They would’ve turned him out the minute I was on that train. I couldn’t do that to him. We’ve been good friends for a while now.” I bent down and opened his cage, “how are you doing, buddy?”

“I know, I’ve seen your Instagram.” She grinned at me over her shoulder and walked into the kitchen.

“I know, it’s been a long trip. We are finally home,’ I whispered against his ear, hugging him close as he purred his agreement. “We made it, Peeve. We did it, we’re home.”

We followed mom into the kitchen and found her putting two bowls on the floor, one for water and one for food. I secretly smiled into my cat's, Peeve, neck, “thanks, mom. That’s really sweet.”

“Put him down and let him breathe, poor thing. He’s been in that cage for a few days with short breaks I imagine. Take a seat, relax, the tea is almost ready.” She said as the kettle whistled. “So, tell me, how was your trip? Yours and Peeve’s, is it? That’s your pet’s name? Peeve, right? You both look exhausted.”

“Do you hear that Peeve? Here you go, you must be hungry and thirsty. It’s just the right place isn’t it? It’s just enough in the way by being adequately out of the way.” I raised an eyebrow at mom, while she smirked at me.

“We’ve had pets before. I remember what to do,” she winked and sat down at the table. “Still to name your pet Peeve… what possessed you? Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. It just suits him, I guess. He was in a snit when I found him, and he seems to regularly collect little frustrations. He often looks peeved… at noises, people, action, but he still puts up with everything. The pun also pleased the ridiculous in me. You know I love plays on words.”

“Ah, so that’s how he became who he is. What an interesting story.”

Again, that odd free vs possessed pet/person identity notion cropped up in mom’s conversation. And I continue to ponder, can a pet have an identity, if he has no consciousness? Or is the proof in the pudding of our own unconscious use of language when talking about them and our relationships. This was especially relevant to my mom since one of her pet peeves was when people talked of their animals as their ‘fur babies’. It drove her mad… batty… completely nuts. She hated it.

From a biological standpoint, I thought it was a rather strange way to refer to them but emotionally, I understood very well. My cat, my pet Peeve, had been my constant companion for several years now. He traveled well, even if he did have that look upon his face. Even if he so often seemed peeved, angry, or frustrated. He made me smile. My pet Peeve had been my best friend for a long time now.

My pet Peeve had been with me and alongside me through lots of ups and downs, thins and thicks, and in-betweens.

“It’s really great to be home mom,” I yawned. “The fatigue is setting in now that we are safe, at home, and able to completely relax. It’s always a little tense while we are moving.”

I stood up and pushing my chair under the table, told mom, “Thanks for the tea, but I really need to get Peeve fully settled, and then I’m going to catch some sleep. I think I can sleep for a week,” I joked.

She stood along with me and wished me a good night as she cleared the table and brought the dishes to the sink.

“Come on, my darling pet, Peeve. Let’s go to bed,” I called him to my side with a slap to my thigh. He followed at my feet as he always did when it was our first night somewhere. Tomorrow he would explore, but for tonight, Peeve was going to stay close.