Mon. Sep 28th, 2020

My last pet in Binghamton was a ferret named Clausewitz. While I often don’t speak of Clausewitz openly anymore, I feel it is time to reflect on his memory.

During the past few years, and after re-entering the social world and bridging new connections, I hear often suggestions that I get a pet or listen to questions about past pets I’ve owned and their status or my memories of them.

This is usually when the awkward silent pause will emerge in the pet conversation. To this day, when the conversation about pets manifests, I’ll give some explanation of why it’s just not the right time, or something ill make up about pets not being permitted in the building. Well, there are no building codes at my place of residence regarding pets. Regardless, there simply may never be a right time again for me to ever have a pet after the loss of Clausewitz.

Clausewitz was named poignantly after the German operation “Clausewitz” during the early months of 1945. The war was culminating to a horrific end in Europe, and Clausewitz was the final operation completed by the German war machine in Berlin.

Well, somehow along the way of learning about this operation, and the early moments of my “break” from first episode psychosis, I believed I needed a pet to soothe the agitation from an unknown and undiagnosed disease process at work and a bad breakup.

Months passed. Friends departed and graduated. My situation grew more out-of-control. Somewhere during that time, I discontinued care of Clausewitz. He lived a few feet away from my bed, but he might as well have been thousands of miles away. The smell of his lack of grooming and cage hygiene grew worse, and I began to grow afraid of touching and even playing with him.

During this time Clausewitz’s legs developed atrophie. I discovered this when a friend asked about him casually, “how is Clausewitz?”Looking into his cage I came to observe the loss of strength in his legs. He couldn’t walk anymore. Instead of nursing him back to health, I grew frightened, and left him to die in a box on the sidewalk far enough where he wouldn’t be discovered by anyone I knew or that knew him.

The life and death of Clausewitz has changed the way I viewed and understood animal cruelty, mental health, and the power humans have to both nurture and destroy so much that we love.

This entry celebrates the life of Clausewitz and the lives of star-crossed pets whose owners love them but who no longer have the insight, judgement and capacity to look out for their health and welfare.

By J. Peters

J. Peters writes on his lived experience, and also brings his story into the work. Mr. Peters blogs daily on his site and for other sites around the United States and Europe, bringing his passion for mental health to people everywhere.

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