See, I have thought for years that I have never had a pet. No cheerful puppy, cuddly kitten, or even a hamster for me. And, much as I begged my parents, I still have never had a rabbit. I am aware that there were pets in the house at one point, but with me too young to remember them, I have been of the impression that the two gerbils 'belonged' to my brothers. Oh, and we borrowed the school gerbil/hamster one holiday, but still, no pet for me.
Imagine my shock when I recalled a couple of days ago, that I had in fact had a pet. It was a caterpillar. My forgetting of my one and only beloved pet may be because of blocking it out due to the trauma of the story, which unfolds thusly;
Inspired, probably by children's books, I decided that if I was not allowed a normal pet, a caterpillar would do just as well. I prepared a coffee jar, poking small holes through the lid so my pet would have air, but wouldn't be able to crawl out. I then went out to the garden and found my soon-to-be-friend. I broke off the twig it was on, and broke off more of the leaves from that same plant, reasoning that it must like eating that one. I carefully lowered my friend into her new home, and took her inside.
I was so proud of myself for thinking of this - now my parents didn't have to worry about me bothering them to buy me a bunny, and I was showing I could be responsible and stuff. Plus, I now had a pet to talk to. I was vaguely aware that children talked to and hugged their pets, so although my caterpillar was a little bit small for hugging, I still talked to her (in my mind she was female)
But the, horror of horrors, it turned out that my parents didn't approve of my new friend. Looking back she, or the leaves did have a rather distinctive smell which, although mild, my parents possibly didn't want in the house. Or they were aware of the short lived nature of caterpillars and didn't want me to get upset on the Inevitable Day. I was just hoping to be able to keep her until she became a butterfly, then I would release her. But no, my parents convinced me that my caterpillar would be happier in the garden and so, holding back my tears, I took her jar out to the garden and took her twig out and laid it on the bush it had come from and said goodbye after only a day or so of our friendship beginning.
I have never experienced the pain of a pet dying but to child-me, and present-me this was by far more painful. I would not know if she was alright, I would never be able to talk to her again, or even find her again. She would be happier, I hoped, but I would not see her ever again. Also, as a child, I had no concept of how long any insect survived, so for many winters after, I would every so often be passing the garden and suddenly worry that Caterpillar was too cold. I never did get to see her turn into a butterfly.
Although a year or so after that, if I remember correctly, I was in the garden and a butterfly landed on my arm for a few minutes, before fluttering off. I never connected the two, but it's nice to think, now, that Caterpillar remembered me and came back. Or if caterpillars and butterflies are shorter lived than I thought, that she told her children, and they told their children, about the nice human girl who cared for her and told her stories.
