Over-50

Baby Boomers: Caution about being late-in-life Pet Parents

We Baby Boomers are the driving force in the growth of spending on pets, reports Dillon Media.  That industry now totals about $50 billion annually. 

But, there's reason for caution before becoming a new Pet Parent or increasing the size of our household.  

One factor is that, in this volatile marketplace for work, pets could limit our mobility.  Nine years ago, because I had a dog and several cats, I didn't consider lucrative opportunities in executive communications in the Middle East or even Germany.  The animals were aging and I sensed their immune system would balk in such surroundings.

The other factor is that we are at the age that we can expect sudden death.   Here in the senior citizen complex where I live residents in the 50s do die.  If they don't have people in their lives who will take care of their animal companions the fate of those animals are uncertain.  They could be put to sleep, brought to a shelter, or wind up on the street as they bolt out of the apartment in panic. 

Those of us who want the companionship of animals can volunteer at a humane society.

Pet Industry: Money's in services

Those still unsure where to transition for a career might consider the high growth pet industry.  The money's in the services part - grooming, day care, boarding, and photography. 

I analyze the industry for financial services company Motley Fool.  Here you can take a peek.

Loss: When it's an illusion.

Loss is the soul of tragedy.  In much of Shakespearean drama the loss might take the form of an illusion, such as believing too much in one's own brilliance or enlightened judgment.  In the lives of us Baby Boomers there has sure been plenty of that. 

Remember when we assumed we were too smart to make our parent's mistakes.  When we didn't factor in were genes and conditioning.  We were also sure through education and standing up for ourselves we could control our work life.   That didn't pan out so well.  Few of us would deny work destroyed parts of our lives that we didn't even realize were deep-sixed.  Marriages are at the top of that list.

The way some of us are healing is simply to embrace how myopic we are.  The productive loss is the illusion that we won't have illusions. 

 

Pet Grief: Why don't we get used to loss ... at our age

Grief breaks us back open to the world.  We start asking questions rather than feeling smug about how much we have learned through so many years of experience.

One week ago today I helped Havana Brown Carlotta pass over.  The presenting cause was a large internal mass that was making her fur stand up a little.  The vet also told me she had a serious heart condition.  After all, she was 16.5 years old.  Of course I was in denial.  I told the vet that there were cats which lived until 21.  She gently told me the average age is 17.

We don't get to over-50 without staggering loss.  Among them are probably our parents, some siblings, financial security, a career or two, and trust in the majority of the human race.  So, we are convinced that the next loss which comes along we should be handling well.  How naive.  Today I was driving to pitch to a prospect.  Along the way Carlotta's face flashed through my mind.  I thought, at least for 20 seconds, that I couldn't go on.

I have been considering making myself a black armband to indicate to the world that I am in mourning.  A woman I attended college with freshman year Rebecca Mitchell actually wore one when her sister had died.  She told me she received tremendous support from strangers like store clerks and folks walking their dogs.

My resentment about the grieving process?  It drains my energy.  Maybe because I am working so hard not letting go of Carlotta.  Yeah, my unconscious is still bargaining with some imaginary power-that-be that reality is not at all what it seems.

Starting a New Family at 66

"A cat or dog will find you."

That's what the world has been telling me, by way of emotional comfort since I had to let go of my Havana Brown animal companion of 16.5 years - Carlotta.  They mean well.  But they don't know what they're talking about.  

To begin with, still with me is my 16.5 year old coal black cat Jason.  Since last Monday I have  been pulling out all stops attempting to keep him going without his soulmate Carlotta.  They used to groom each other and sit butt to butt on the couch, bed, and desk by the window looking out over New Haven, Connecticut.  By trial and error I finally hit on chicken.  It must be the ultimate comfort food because Jason has a spring back to his step.  No way could I bring another animal into the house.  Jason couldn't handle it.

Secondly, at age 66, which will be 67 in May, why would I want to start a new family?  That entails years of commitment.  Since I bought my first condo in Stamford, Connecticut at the end of the 1980s, I have been involved in animal rescue.  Although that has been my greatest satisfaction in life it has also brought so much emotional turmoil.  We outlive our animals companions.  That means so much anguish at the vet's when we help them pass over.  I don't think I can endure that any more.  Pet grief has torn me apart more than the loss of my parents and older sister.

And, third, I have plans.  Maybe big ones.  After telecommunications gets to the state globally in which I can conduct business from wherever I would like to try out life in Ecuador or Spain.  Right now I'm researching it. 

When I get to my new, then I can consider adopting another animal companion. I will name her Resilience.

"The Artist" - What does it take for us to let help in?

"The Artist" is a story about a man and his career.  When the career tanks, the man takes a detour away from life.  Not that he was ever that much into life before his professional crash.  He was a perfect fit for being a star in the era of silent film.  He didn't have to speak.  His wife left him because he never talked.  His one relationship is with a dog.  Briefly he touched the life a young actress.  He leveraged his star power so that she could remain in the picture.

Several times both the dog and that actress turned star reach out to him to help.  He turns away.  There's no telling why he finally broke open to help but he did.  His career returned.  And he even began to talk, a little.

What does it take for us Baby Boomers to let the world enter our little worlds?

Jason Grieves

"If Jason only picks at his food and all that, we can consider an antidepressant for a while."

That's what the vet Dr. Linda Colburn told me at VCA Animal Hospital, East Haven, Connecticut when we decided to release 16-year-old Havana Brown feline Carlotta from her pain.  Jason, coal black and 16, and Carlotta had been soulmates since I had adopted them years ago.  They groomed each other and shared body heat on the couch, bed, and even desk in my home office.

Yes, Jason is grieving.  As Dr. Colburn anticipated, he's only picking at his Fancy Feast seafood mix.  Usually the king of the house, he's reserved.  And he searches around for any sign that his companion might still be on the premises.  Just like us, animals harbor magical thinking when confronted with loss. 

Time will tell if Jason - and I - can get on the other side of this.  If we do, I wonder who we will be.  Loss changes us.  In her book recounting the death of her daughter "Blue Nights," Joan Didion shows us just how much the ending of the life of a loved one can reconfigure us.

Pet Grief: When darkness falls quickly

Aristotle was wrong.  Tragedy doesn't have to concern a large matter.  It could be played out on the very small stage of an 11-pound Havana Brown 16-year-old cat named Carlotta.

Last week, I felt the lump on her side.  I thought the decision would be diagnosis and treatment versus no treatment, aided with pain patches.  I knew the effectiveness of the latter when my 13-year-old cat Sarah had cancer of the jaw. 

Then darkness fell quickly.  Last evening as I was making notes about "The Good Wife" and "Downton Abbey" in order to report to readers of my two blogs http://lawandmore.typepad.com and http://janegenova.com I couldn't find Carlotta.  Obviously she was hiding: the sure-fire sign of a dying animal.  Finally I found her behind a bookcase I hadn't moved since I relocated from Seymour, Connecticut to New Haven, Connecticut 5 years ago. This morning she hadn't eaten.  She hid in a closet in the bedroom, then returned to her refuge behind the bookcase.

I called the vet to reschedule the appointment from tomorrow at 11 A.M. to this afternoon.  My decision, at least now before noon, is to allow her to pass over.   The growth is pressing against her skin, making the hair stand up.  Jason, her 16-year-old buddy, is holding vigil in the living room.  I don't think it's fair for him to not to be able to move on with the actual grief.

I wonder: did all the loss we Baby Boomers have already suffered, particularly during The Great Recession, tame our denial and help us become more accepting of life as it is?

 

Bird Lady: Living in slow time

Five years after a neighbor here in Geezerville adopted an abused bird, he's thriving.  In fact, he has bounced back so much emotionally that he's a bully.  If she leaves the room they are both in, while he is awake, he throws his food on the carpet. 

When I was completely in fast time, this kind of saga would be something I would line up as a way of amusing my professional friends about life in senior housing.  Then I would add, "But the living is cheap."  They all appreciated my anecdote about the boss lady I nicknamed the Vice President of Nothing.  As I was moving in, she told me and the movers that she was "Vice President of the B Building."  When she spotted my cat she recited the rule about double-bagging the kitty litter before depositing it in the trash. 

Now, I've caught the rhythm of slow time.  It's even seeped into my business, which has been picking up, along with the economy.  I take breaks.  I even take a day off a week.  I don't try too hard, at least most of the time. 

Should therapists send their most change-resistant overachievers to bunk in senior housing for a few years? 

Shame on Me: I [nearly] gave up on aging Jason

The Genova Family - 1 human, 2 felines - have much to celebrate tonight.  Bring on the Fancy Feast. 

Shame on me but I had sort of given up on 16-year-old coal black cat Jason.  He had lost weight and was drinking way too much water.  At first, since I fell apart in 2003 after my dogs Joshua and Nicole had died, I was paralyzed with fright.  I did nothing.  Then I did something.

I went to VNA Animal Hospital in East Haven, Connecticut.  I put it to 'em straight.  No heroic measures and no elaborate testing.  If he was in pain, let's get a pain patch. 

That didn't have to be the situation at all.  The vet Linda Colburn went through the cost-efficient options for investigating why Jason seemed to be losing ground.  I took one.  We ruled out cancer and diabetes.  For someone who treasures her animal companions, it doesn't get better than that.

There's no guarantee Jason will live to be 100.  But he does have a good shot at bouncing back from this ailment we assume is a kidney infection.   Antibiotics for about three weeks and then we will re-visit the situation. 

Thank you, smart caring vets like Dr. Colburn.  At midnight, I'm tossing around the catnip.