Tag Archives: pets

Autism and Pets

Betcha didn’t know! June is National Adopt-A-Cat Month!

Did I hear a ‘so what?’ I know. Many people are allergic to cats. Many people prefer dogs. Many people prefer fish, rodents, or reptiles. And that’s okay. Because any pet will teach a child responsibility, compassion, how to handle death, and more. Pets also bring comfort, amusement, and can present a calming influence. I know. Every day I see the benefits of having pets – with both of my boys.

Over the years, we’ve been the proud humans of five cats, a dog, a rat, a mouse, and several fish. Currently, we share our abode with three wonderful cats, two adopted from local shelters and one from a neighbor. There’s Midnight, our sleek black male shorthair, Sheba, our pretty black-and-tan tabby (see her here!), and our medium-haired little gray girl, which Nigel named Winter (see below). The boys love all of the cats, but Winter’s the newest, so she gets the most attention. Nigel will hold her and walk through the house, saying to anyone in earshot, “Look at her! Just look at her! Look at how cute she is! It’s like she jumped straight out of a painting.” Then he snuggles his face into hers and says, “If your parents could meet you now, they’d be so proud of you!” Aidan loves her just as much. He bursts through the front door when he gets home from school every day and says, “Where’s Winter? Where’s that little princess? I have to pet her!” And then he squeals when he finds her. They are in love with this cat.

And since she’s not their first cat, they’ve learned about death from the ones that came before her. We had one hit by a car a few years ago, and as sad as it was for the boys (and me), our cat’s death helped prepare them emotionally for their great-grandfather’s death several months later. And when Nigel’s very own pet mouse, that he kept in his room and was responsible for entirely, died last year, he handled it with more maturity than I would ever have expected.

Oh, yes, they grumble and complain about having to empty the litter box. They “forget” to do it. But then they see what happens when they “forget,” and they realize that their pets are dependent upon them for their care. And they learn about treating their pets with kindness and respect. Sometimes, this carries over into their dealings with people. At least, that’s the idea.

It’s also worth noting that people on the spectrum can often relate to animals easier than they can to people, such as Temple Grandin with cows or John Elder Robison and dogs. I definitely see this with Nigel. He was playing with Winter a few days ago, pulling a string through the house and laughing as she chased it. After some time, he put the string away and went to the kitchen to get a snack. Then he went to his bedroom to get something, and after that he went to the bathroom. Winter followed him closely the entire time, running right alongside him like a little gray shadow. After a minute of this I heard Nigel say to her, “There’s no way of escaping you, Winter, but I’m glad of it!” He said it in such a sweet, loving tone, with more inflection than he’s ever used when talking to people.

*sigh*  A boy and his cat. Love at first purr.

Our Hero

We are an arachnophobic family. Nigel certainly fears bees and other flying insects, but spiders head the zero tolerance list for all of us. Aidan recently wore flip-flops in the house for a week when a spider hit had gone awry and the intended escaped. We don’t take these things lightly.

Last night, Nigel came up to pet one of our cats, Sheba, who was very interested in something on the floor. Nigel bent closer to look and immediately jumped back, gasping, “It’s a spider!” Sheba, as if on cue, pounced on the smallish pest, then stepped back and proceeded to eat it.

Nigel chuckled. “She’s a good cat. She’s a good bug killer.”

Then he kissed her head and said, “You mad, impetuous thing,” and went back to his room, secure in the knowledge that we have an effective spider slayer in our home.

Sheba

Sheba

We have a new little girl in our family! She is so sweet, inquisitive, and pretty! We are all in love with her already. She came with the name (from the local animal shelter), and we decided to keep it because she answers to that. She curled up for a nap after exploring the house for four hours. Nigel was quick to point out, “She’s our own Queen of Sheba.” Midnight, our other cat, is not yet convinced.

Tonight is movie night with the boys; we are making raspberry snowcones and watching Best in Show, one of our favorites. TGIF!

Autism and Death

Nigel had a pet mouse for six months. It was the cutest little beige-colored furry thing. It was his own responsibility to feed him and change his bedding and water, which he faithfully did. Nigel named him Jonathan after Jonathan Brisby in The Secret of NIMH, one of his favorite movies and books. He told me that he held Jonathan every night for five minutes before going to sleep. One morning last week I noticed that Jonathan was curled up in a ball on the floor of his cage and not visibly breathing.

It has been interesting to me over the years to see the progression of Nigel’s acceptance of death. His first experience was at the age of nine, when our first cat, whom we all loved, was hit by a car a mere 50 feet from our house and instantly killed. Our neighbors called to let me know, and I brought the cat into our backyard. I went inside to tell Nigel and Aidan, who had very different reactions. Aidan began sobbing, and as I consoled him, Nigel became very angry and stormed out to the backyard. I hated to leave Aidan as he was, but I had an even worse feeling about Nigel’s state. I found him pulling his bike out of the shed, buckling his helmet (odd that he had remembered), and about ready to ride off, saying, “I’m going to find whoever killed Max and kill them for revenge!” After my initial shock over the length and complexity of his sentence, rare at that age, I somehow was able to diffuse his anger and help him let go of his need for revenge.

Several months later, Nigel and Aidan’s great-grandfather died. He lived a few hundred miles away, and they had only seen him twice, but they sure loved that man. I think Nigel internalized his sadness because he didn’t know how to deal with it. Sometimes now, three years later, he’ll come up to me an hour after his bedtime to say, “I keep thinking about my great-grandfather.” That’s good, I tell him. That way you’ll always remember him. But I’m sure that right now he would want you to get some sleep.

About two months ago, we had another cat die. He was a day-time roamer, but he always came home every evening. I think someone in the neighborhood got tired of him coming in their yard, trapped him, and dumped him on the other side of the highway that runs through town. I found him three weeks later, but he appeared to have been dead for just a week or so. He had been hit on the highway on his way back home to us, loyal cat that he was. So I brought him home to bury him, and Nigel calmly helped me. 

He tells me all the time that he misses that cat, but he has never indicated a desire for revenge, which I am glad to see. And even though I haven’t seen him cry about the death, I know he is dealing with the emotions surrounding it. Last month my father had surgery to remove a tumor, and when I told Nigel about it, he said, “Well, if he dies, just don’t tell me.” At first it sounded like he was being calloused, but I knew what he meant. He didn’t want to know about it because he didn’t want to feel the sadness again. And he knew it would be worse this time.

I am happy to report that my father came through surgery and is recovering very well. Jonathan the mouse, however, didn’t make it. And so, I tried to think of the best way to tell Nigel. I thought of saying, “Have you checked on Jonathan today?” or “I think something’s wrong with Jonathan,” but I settled on the more direct, “Nigel, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Jonathan died in his cage.” When I said it, Nigel stiffened; I could tell that it shocked him. But then he said, “Well, rodents have a short life span.” He went to go look at the mouse, and I asked him if he wanted to help bury him. “No. That would cause too much sadness.” So I did it myself, reflecting on his ability to identify his emotions and knowing what his limits are with how much he can handle. I think that’s pretty amazing. I wish I could have that outlook on my whole life.