Zoe’s Christmas Carol

I always fall for the bad boys, much to the chagrin of family and friends. Whenever it happens, they bite their lip and think, here we go again. Every since John Bender mesmerized me during The Breakfast Club’s detention, my heart has belonged to the underdog, the prisoner, the roughneck with the heart of gold. But I’m not alone, of course- many ladies of much higher stature than I can hope to attain love the bad boy, too, from Danielle Steel to Lady Diana. Even Grace leaves Will briefly to date a prisoner who melts her heart.

Well, thank God it wasn’t the Don Jail this time where I fell in love. Leo was in a different kind of prison, not far down the street, at the Toronto Humane Society. Quite possibly the ugliest of all the cats there awaiting a home, he had my heart instantly. Scruffy and ripped up, this wild thing was not laying contentedly inside his litter box like the others. He was desperate to get out of the cage, and his distress was palpable. Just as I was considering letting this home wrecker wreak havoc in the life of my three once-orphaned pampered felines, Mr. Once-Were-Warriors looked me straight in the eye through a menacing hiss. That’s when I saw he was missing an eye. A wave or revulsion went through me, as if he was a living piece of taxidermy. The concave dent of the face where an eye should have been looked sore and probably was, once, and I wanted to take the pain poor Cyclops had living in those alleys and give him a place of fluffy towels and endless tins of tuna.

But alas, half my life is already spent changing the litter box and looking after Bert’s lesion-producing skin condition and cleaning cat hair out of my keyboard. I can’t have another cat, and certainly not a boy of this ilk, one whose brute appeal will be short lived. Leo, however, would be great for a garage mechanic with a grouchy disposition, slinking around tools and catching mice. He’d be fine for a lonely old lady with a garden, who is also half blind, and just hopes for some porch companionship and wants to scare the neighbourhood rottweilers away.

I wasn’t here to adopt, anyhow. It was my friend Miss Mel who decided to expand her family by rescuing an adult cat in need. For 13 years, it was her and her own Leo, a cheery, loyal redhead of a dog, nothing like the cantankerous old cat I fell for. Leo’s getting on in years and Mel thought he would relish the company of a friendly and comedic cat, a pal he could tell jokes with and wile away the late afternoon hours in the sunny window. After quickly perusing the endless cages of cats, she decided to adopt 32 of them, but I told her the legal limit is six. I’m not entirely sure on that figure- it may be a by-law I read once and now quote with feigned authority. Regardless, you have to pick just one, I told her.

It was a hard decision- each abandoned kitty, whether cheery and personable or aloof and catty, had its charms. The needier ones pulled our heartstrings, but Mel had to eliminate from the selection any with major diseases. While willing to take on any necessary vet bills, she’s just not equipped to fund more serious and known disabilities. There are many cats with feline AIDS- please consider adopting one if you do not own other pets and can afford some extra care. Mel also eliminated the cutesy kittens: reasoning that they are more easily adoptable, and that she’d like to rescue an older cat as companion to her older dog.

The happy ending for Ned is just wonderful. He’s a bumpy looking orange and white boy who didn’t even go haywire upon entering his new apartment. He immediately let Leo the Dog know who would rule the roost from here on in, and promptly lay down on the couch in a little ball after eating, posing for the photographs of the new addition. One happy ending.

But this story is not really about Ned and how lucky he was. It’s about the other Leo who got left behind, and Ned’s next-door cellmate. It’s about Little Elvis, whom we almost chose, and the tiny little black and white girl with the crazy long hair on her paws. It’s about the giant grey and white feller with the swollen face and difficult breathing, and the sassy little bundle of orange stripes who purred so loud we could hear her over the din of mewing beasts down the row. The story is this: FIX YOUR BLOODY PETS. The story is this: DON’T LET YOUR PET WANDER AROUND IMPREGNATING OTHER PETS.

The Toronto Humane Society takes in nearly ten thousand pets every year. Most are cats and dogs, but they also have adoption programs for birds and reptiles! They care for wild animals if injured, and return them to their habitat, if appropriate. Only a very small percentage- usually less than 15%- of animals are put out of their misery. “We will only euthanise an animal that is severely ill – with no chance of recovery – or extremely aggressive with people and other animals. We never euthanise animals based on space constraints or because the animal has been here too long,” they state online.

The Humane Society began in the late 1800s in defense of children and animals. In February 1887, a fellow named John Kelso presented some ideas to the Canadian Institute about rescuing children from abusive homes and workhorses from inhumane conditions. The term Humane Society was chosen to be broad enough to encourage humane treatment of all living beings. Children’s Aid societies and other philanthropies proceeded, and the Humane Society eventually became the animal rescue and care we know of today.

So what can you do? And why should you, when children are starving and soldiers are missing limbs? Well, my friend, if you are buying artificial legs for soldiers, land mine victims, and other amputees, and you are funding food and medicine for Darfur refugees, you are exempt from Toronto’s pet problem: unless, of course, your pet is not neutered. Then get he to a neuteree!

If you are not yet sharing your savings with Haitian hospitals, homeless Vancouver addicts, or AIDS orphans at home or afar, then please help Leo, Ned, and Fido this year. Like me, you may not be in a position to adopt, but you can still help. Here’s how:

FIRST THINGS FIRST. Spay your pet. You can wax philosophical over the morality of whether your pet can consent to a monk’s life if and when you can afford to pay the vet bills, food bills, and housing for each and every stray animal in the world. Until then, shut up and head to the cutting board.

SECOND THINGS FIRST. As an act of charity, and animal defense, pay for your neighbour/friend/wayward brother to neuter his or her pet. Some annoying friends do not neuter. Some loving homes took an orphan and share their food but do not have an extra cent to neuter. Some are irresponsible and should be neutered themselves until they are capable of seeing the need. That’s for the Big Guy to sort out. But you can help by taking matters into your own hands.

Adopt a pet. If you are flush, take one of the pets who need more medical attention. Adopt an older pet. Adopt an older pet for an old lady friend you have (make sure it’s fine with her first!) Let your Auntie look after the pet she can’t afford but would love, and you pay the vet bills and food. This way, even if you can’t have a pet, due to allergies or lifestyle or whatever, you can help a pet and a human at the same time. Many shut-ins would love some companionship but can’t afford to adopt. Help them.

If you can’t adopt because you are moving to Taiwan to teach English next year, you can FOSTER PARENT. Through the humane society, you can temporarily provide love and shelter. This is hard on the heart when you fall in love with a pet, and it is heroic.

You can’t adopt because you have six pets already, or because you work long hours and your condo is too small for a dog. Fair enough. You can DONATE money to the humane society. Why not give up that silvery holiday blouse and donate the money, which will help neuter, feed, or provide medical care or shelter to all kinds of creatures? Stay in and have rum and eggnog at home for one party. Send over what you save on fancy martinis and greedier party splurges- you know I’m talking about that exorbitantly-priced baggie that you don’t effing need. Then you’ll feel extra festive at the next party, and really enjoy it instead of pretending to.

Don’t know what to get those nieces and nephews who are drowning in junk? Give the gift of philanthropy. You can make a donation in their name, and commit to working with them over the next year on a schedule and budget that they can contribute to. Kids love critters, and you can give your time by taking them down to see the unloved cats and dogs. This will help them love and care for their own pets more responsibly, and be eager to help share their allowance for a good cause.

Finally, you can donate IN MEMORY of a loved one who has died. Perhaps Uncle Frank was a real dog lover before that fateful snowy night when he drove over a bridge. Your beloved daughter loved animals before she tragically developed leukemia. Donating in memory of an animal lover is a wonderful way to keep their warmth with us, and to do something about the things we can change. We can’t bring our loved one back. But we can pay it forward.

Over Thanksgiving when my beautiful sister Zoë Nickerson tragically passed away, I wanted to bring her back so badly that I’ve been sick ever since. I dreamed of being a millionaire and setting up the Zoë Nickerson Centre for Fibromyalgia Research or any elaborate, outlandish project that would bring her spirit back to earth where I think it belongs, though perhaps Zoë or God don’t agree. I can’t do any of that, and it was killing me. But yesterday as I fell madly in love with a cat with one eye, I thought of Zoë, who had a similar penchant for heartbreaking hotties. That said, the love of her life was a giant boxer named Eva who thought she was a cat, and would climb accordingly onto your lap, though she weighed more than you do. This year, for Eva, I’m donating a day’s wages to the Toronto Humane Society in memory of Zoë Nickerson.

We can’t change the world, not really. The mittens I’m taking to the mitten tree at church will keep one kid’s hands warm this winter, but will not solve the hunger and homelessness of the millions. One cause seems like it’s not even worth bothering for- why build a house for someone when another flood is coming? Why give mittens when some kids need a new liver? Why help refugees when another war is coming? Why visit a lonely old lady when the old folks’ homes are busting at the seams? Why bother donating to cancer research when diabetes and depression take the lives of millions? Why advocate against violence or for mental health patients or against torture in Slovenia or for local food drives or against carbon emissions when there are more than six billion people clamouring for some need?

Because God commanded it. Because you cannot change the world but you can most certainly provide one child with mittens or one Fido with dinner.

Because you can, that’s why.

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