My Funny Valentine

Except for New Years, Valentine's Day is my least favorite "holiday." It's one of those times where emotions and expectations run high, but the payoff is never enough. Thanks, Hallmark! Fortunately, animals love you every day of the year, no matter how little you give them.

I always associated Lancelot with the holidays because I brought him home the night before Thanksgiving 1995. I had to work that year, so I stayed in DC instead of visiting my parents in Rochester. I missed them and felt pretty miserable. Lancelot earned his namesake because he was my knight in shining armor, saving me from loneliness.

Last night, as I bought new toys for "Big Boy," I remembered Lancelot's first few nights at home. Since I had only lived with dogs before, I was extremely confused by some of his behaviors. Why does he run across the room for no apparent reason? Why does he suddenly seem insulted by my affection when he was purring just moments ago? Why does run crazily around the apartment in the middle of the night? As my cat expert, Ray was usually the friend to answer these idiotic questions. Her response was always the same.

"Oh, totally normal cat behavior! Don't worry about it," she'd say.

The day after Lancelot came home, I tried to pick him up as he walked over to his food bowl. It was the one and only time he hissed at me. This cat hates me, I thought.

My apartment had a large closet with no doors and shelving up to the ceiling. I would come home from work to find Lancelot, after hours of searching, behind a stack of sweaters on the top shelf. Then there was the time two workmen were doing repairs in my apartment. I walked in the door and heard meowing but saw no cat.

"Where's my cat?" I asked.

They didn't know. I soon determined Lance had been so scared by the commotion that he had squeezed himself under the kitchen cabinets and gotten caught between the dishwasher and the wall. After about 20 minutes of pleading, I started crying. The men made a quick exit. Lancelot only emerged after I had called animal control, begging for help in getting him out.

I became less of a worry wart once I got used to living with a cat. I took it all less personally. I also learned Lancelot was an excellent judge of character. Lancelot loved men, so I looked warily upon any he didn't approve of.

In my last apartment, I had a window seat where Lancelot loved to nap. My former boyfriend said he often felt guilty when he used the bathroom in the middle of the night because Lancelot gave him a dirty look for taking his spot on the bed. In the end the two turned out to be great friends; my ex even drew this beautiful picture just a few days before Lancie died.

Perhaps Lancelot's best judgment was against a guy I was "seeing" right before my 30th birthday. The guy was 22, and I was having my fun. One morning we rushed off to work and I forgot to make the bed. When I got home, I discovered Lancelot had made a mistake. I found a huge pool of urine--on the pillow where the guy had lain. I could still see the indentation where his head had been. Guess Lancie knew better than I did about what was good for me!

So in honor of the day, give your pets a hug. They don't need flowers or candy: they love you anyway. To them, you're always a Valentine.