I found myself having the same conversation that some well-meaning friends have with me, with regard to me, with my mom, with regard to cats. I've been urging my mother--both parents, actually--to get a cat, but they both cite their attachment to the dearly departed cat that I grew up with. Mom argues that she'll always compare any cat to her.
A.: Fair enough, but the new cat won't care; (s)he'll be happy to have a home and a family.
Mom: C. was just so smart. She was a brilliant cat.
A.: Perhaps, but it doesn't matter. My cat is an idiot, but I love her anyway; it would be nice, sometimes, if she were smarter, but overall, her idiocy doesn't detract from her value as a pet. It's not why I keep her around.
Mom: ...she was so smart. She always knew where we were... she always knew...
A.: But she's not here anymore, and there are cats that are here. You don't need them to help you with differential calculus; you need them to be there and look pretty.
Mom: I'll always compare them to her.
A.: It won't matter.
Mom: She was so smart.
A.: Smart is not important in cats. It's not what they're there for.
Mom: She was unbelievably smart.
A.: That's all well and good, but a dumb cat is better than no cat. It's nice if you get another smart one, but it's really just not that important.
And so on.
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