Change a Pet’s Life Day

The Quiet Power of Choosing Them Back

Some days slip by unnoticed. Others arrive carrying a soft nudge—an invitation to remember who we’ve been, and who we’re still becoming. Change a Pet’s Life Day on January 24 is one of those days.

It isn’t about grand gestures or viral rescues. It’s about the quieter moments that alter two lives at once: the day you say yes to an animal who has already learned how to wait, the day a wary heartbeat syncs with yours, the day a home becomes shared rather than occupied.

Changing a pet’s life rarely looks dramatic from the outside. Often, it looks like routine. Food bowls. Vet visits. Patience. Learning the difference between a bark that means I’m scared and a meow that means I trust you enough to complain. But to the animal on the receiving end, it’s everything.

The Two-Way Transformation

Anyone who has lived with more than one species knows this: pets don’t just fit into our lives—they reshape them.

Dogs teach us about presence in motion. They remind us to go outside when we’d rather stay in, to greet the world with enthusiasm even after disappointment. They are momentum with fur.

Cats, on the other hand, teach sovereignty. Consent. The art of choosing connection rather than demanding it. Cats don't follow you to prove loyalty; they sit beside you because they decided to.

Both change us in different ways. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we get to learn from both.

The Ones Who Came Before

Even when a pet is no longer with us, their influence doesn’t fade. It becomes part of how we see animals everywhere—how we pause at shelter posts, how we notice the quiet ones in the back kennels, how we understand that behavior is often just communication waiting to be translated.

Loving a pet once often opens the door to loving many, even indirectly.

Changing Lives Beyond Our Own Homes

Not everyone can adopt. Not everyone has the space, the health, or the timing. But changing a pet’s life doesn’t require a leash in your hand—it can start with a pen, a keyboard, or a willingness to support the systems that protect the most vulnerable animals.

Years ago, that belief guided me toward contributing creative work to Write to Meow and Write to Woof in 2014 and 2015. These anthologies were designed to financially support no-kill shelters—using storytelling as a lifeline, turning words into bowls filled, lights kept on, doors kept open.

It was my way of extending the circle. Of saying: even if I can’t save them all, I can help hold the net.

Today Is a Good Day to Choose Them

Change a Pet’s Life Day isn’t about perfection. It’s about intention.

Donate if you can. Share a shelter post. Foster if your life allows it. Write, advocate, volunteer, or simply speak kindly about animals who are too often misunderstood. Every action, however small it feels, shifts the world for someone who depends on human choices to survive.

And sometimes—without planning to—you’ll realize they changed your life right back.

***

If you're still with me, I am sharing the entries that I submitted to the books (unfortunately, only one was chosen for publication, even though they were designed to be read together):

Dear Not-a-Cat,

            I am writing this letter to you because you remain silent, although I have been trying to talk to you for over two years. What, you don't speak Cat? Well, you don't look like a cat either, although the size is right. You are shorter than I am, but Mom and Dad keep saying that I weigh more, whatever that means. Why do you have such a huge head then?

            I must admit, the size of that head that comes with the big mouth and teeth scared me when you first moved in. That is why I hissed and stayed off the floor for a moon or so, until I figured out you could not get onto furniture. They are mine anyway, thank goodness. Of course I was upset at first when you moved in. I did not mind getting a dad, but I was a bit mad at him at first for bringing in a smelly not-a-cat.

            I asked Mom back then why we could not get rid of you because you scared me, but she said that, just like me, you had a forever home here. She told me that your first dad got rid of you after only a short time because he did not like your habit of getting into the garbage can. Hey, I love the garbage can too! Too bad that Mom and Dad keep it behind that hard-to-open-door. I have been trying to tell you how we can work together to get into it, but why won't you listen?

            Anyway, here is a little secret for you: See, Mom was not the first hooman in my life either. It took me a while to convince her to allow her to provide me with a home and food. She kept telling me she could not have a cat, whatever that means. Of course I always get my way, so here I am. If you ever decide to speak to me, let's figure out a plan on how to tackle that hidden food supply, okay?

            Here are a few things that puzzle me: Why do you not poop in a box like I do? It's so much easier than going outside in the cold. Also, I don't understand why you don't always drink out of your own water bowl. It's sooooo much bigger than mine, made for that big snout of yours. Plus, why do you gobble your food in one sitting? I always leave some for later. Geez. Why do you make life so difficult for yourself?

Meow,

Princess Gracie, the Cat

***

Dear Not-a-Dog,

            Of course I don't speak Cat, I am a dog. Why don't you learn Dog? I suppose, that in the meantime, a letter will have to do. Of course I don't look like anything like you because I am a dog. A wiener dog, also known as a Dachshund, to be exact. (No, not weiner). People call us hot dogs, but I don't like that. We are not food, we are dogs. See,  hoomans make those stupid hot dog costumes that they put on us to make us look like the food. They think it's fun, but I don't think that is cool.

            So, my life is not easy at all. Besides being burdened with that name, I have the disadvantage of my breed: short legs. That means I can't get up on the couch or bed, like you. Nor can I get to all the yummy food in the house. Do you know what it's like to smell all that delicious foodstuff and never get any of it?

            You can climb! I wish you would get some of the foodstuff from the top and throw it on the floor. That's even better than raiding the garbage can. Besides, you have a bowl that is full of kibbles all the time, but I get fed only once a day. It's not fair, I say. Of course I gobble it down in one sitting then.

            Also, you don't get made wet every month, like I do. Bath, they call it, to make me clean. I resent the fact that everyone thinks that I am smelly or dirty. I don't smell anything. Well, what I do smell is the scent you leave behind after having lain in my bed when I am not in it. Not cool. I wish they would immerse you in the wet stuff sometimes, so you could understand what that is like.

            And no, I don't make my life difficult by going outside to poop or pee. I don't even need a box, like you do. The floor is just fine for me. However, for some reason that is frowned upon around here. So, it's Mom and Dad who make it difficult on me by making me go outside to do the business. And least I get a reward for that. Do you get food rewards for pooping in a box? No. Who is smarter now?

Woof,

Adrianne, the Dog