BOND (ing) PART II- DR. NO

I realized that in my last post, I told more stories of dysfunctional bonding relating to submissive owners, over indulgence and co-dependence. It can go the other way, too. But I want to tell one more story of what great damage not being able to say "no" and/or losing oneself in the relationship with your animal.

BUSTER

My most adored cat, Buster, and I first met online. (no it wasn't a cat room). I looked up shelter kittens and found his picture there. Something about him drew me in. Usually, when I go to a shelter, I am willing to give any one of the animals a good home. They are all needy. But he captured my heart at first look. When I arrived at the shelter on the gray, wet Seattle day, I noticed immediately how meager the building was. They had large card files of all of the cats and kittens that were up for adoption. In the Seattle area, the county shelters dispose of 8,000 pounds of dog and cat bodies (having been euthanized) per WEEK. That is an old statistic. Frankly, it is too painful to find out the real number.
Buster (that wasn't his name at the time) was in the arms of another woman. She had adopted him. I turned around and left.
After Thanksgiving weekend was almost over, and I came to my senses that I should be happy that now two cats would find a good home, I returned to the shelter. I explained what kind of kitten I was looking for, and the kind volunteer told me that she thought they had one I might like. We rounded the corner together. "He was just returned. I guess he harassed the other cat they already had." Yep. It was Buster. I named him that because he was obviously a bully.

WHERE DID WE GO WRONG?

Believe me, I love all animals- the cute and the ugly ones, the mean and the nice ones, the timid and the bold ones-ALL of them. But I still can't explain what it was about Buster that separated him from the other animals I have had. Maybe because he was absolutely devoted to me. He waited by the door from the garage every day when he heard my car come home. He asked for "shoulder time." (time when it was full attention on him while I held him. He wanted to get petted and held at night if I got up to pee. I could go on and on. So far, so good, right?
Not exactly. All was well until I had 2 vacations (totaling 3 weeks) in one summer. Highly unusual. We hardly ever travel at all. We had a competent pet sitter, in our own home. But it was almost immediately following the last vacation that he developed asthma.
After a harrowing trip to the emergency room and $1200 later, we finally found a vet that could tell us what he had and help us to treat it. The first emergency room visit was on September 5. I found his lifeless little body on May 31. I had almost 9 months of every kind of vet tech work I could do at home and a slow, agonizing realization that it was only borrowed time that we had together. With all of my tireless work to keep him alive, we grew even closer. That morning he had an attack that was terrifying for both of us. I released him at that point. As he lay still, grasping for air, I told him that I was willing to fight forever, but if he wanted to be done with this, I understood. I will talk about death and the will to live another day.
You see how his dependence on me contributed to his death? Was he afraid without me? Missed me too much? I don't know. I don't think the vet would attribute all of it to our codependent relationship, but I think it had a lot to do with it. He was only 6 years old.
Healthy bonding is as important to person-animal relationships as it is to person-person relationships. The first few blogs talked about pathology, most of which could have been avoided with proper bonding. So, where do we go from here?