“He who does not trust enough
will not be trusted”
- Lao Tzu
She’s an eight pounder, white, with a grey circular highlighting. Generally, well before 5am, this creature climbs over me and after pacing back and forth from one end of the bed to the other, gently snuggles in. A purring machine, she slaps me with her tail until I pet her, pull on her ears and scratch her sides. It’s an evolving drill in a long distance run with a cat that had been abused before coming to our home.
Cats…a way of life…
We were a close-knit family of five for seventeen years. We all lived in Missouri, Michigan, California, and finally here in Arizona. As our girls aged and began to slip away, our hearts were filled with sorrow.
We lost Sarah first. She had taken Molly as her own. It was seldom they were not found together wherever they were in the house. She followed her everywhere. It wasn’t that she didn’t have affection for me, but the focus was my girlfriend. Sometimes I got the glance that said, “Sure you married the girl, but let’s be clear, you need to get in line!”
Leah was the second to leave us. She was in many ways mine. If I were outside on the patio reading in the mornings, she sat beside me. Working at my desk, she lay in languorous repose a few inches from the keyboard. She particularly liked to be on my lap, sitting neatly between my arms so as not to interfere with the keyboard. In the mornings she climbed into bed, for a few minutes with the clear message, “Glad you are awake. This is a limited time snuggle because I’m hungry.”
Hannah was the last. If there was ever an independent cat it was she! She was hefty. I’m not sure she would have described herself as overweight, possibly just big boned. Despite her size, she had the physical grace and balance of a ballerina. Hannah did what she wanted, when she wanted. It was like we were in our home for her pleasure. “Feed me and keep that litter box clean. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” She was her own cat.
As with the other two, losing her was heart breaking. We would need to construct a new family.
Losing the known and embracing the unknown is a casual definition of change.
Who knew - two new...
Our new cats came from a local no kill shelter. Molly had seen one online and had it in her heart to bring it home. As it turns out, Abie had significant problems stemming from being hit by a car in Puerto Rico just before Hurricane Maria hit the island in 2017. He had sustained a broken jaw, a few teeth and a torn soft palate in the roof of his mouth. It required two surgeries and a couple of weeks with a feeding tube, inserted into his esophagus. In the end, the surgeries were a success. He settled in as though he had always lived here.
Then there was Lena. She caught my attention because she had isolated herself on an elevated platform where she didn’t have to interact with the kittens in her area. I went to pet her, and she bit me. She wasn’t aloof, she was terrified. We learned she had been badly abused, particularly by males. She had come to the shelter from a county facility and transferred to the shelter where we found her.
Working things out...
For months, when I came near the cat, she growled and swatted, frequently drawing blood. Nonetheless, I kept after her, picking her up for brief moments, petting and talking to her. I began giving little chats.
I chuckle when I think about these one-way conversations. I would say, “I love you, Lena and am so glad you are a part of our family.” She would hear, “blah, blah, blah, blah.” It’s kind of strange that in those moments I would speak to her as if she understood English (don’t we all do this?). What isn’t so strange is that, over time, she began to understand, dare I say, embrace the message, maybe better said, she got my feelings.
Over the next year or so, Lena began wandering into bed by my side in the mornings for a few seconds. Seconds turned into minutes and by now several years later, whether it is the early morning and time to get up, reading just before going to sleep, an afternoon nap, or working on the computer. she comes to be with me. If she doesn’t like something I’m doing, she gently nips as if to say, “Okay, enough of that.”
That cat captured my heart, and I continue work on hers. She has taught me that trust, real trust, takes time and consistency.
Isn’t this the way life is intended to be regardless of the creatures with whom we interact? Shouldn’t we be nonthreatening and loving to those around us…particularly our own species who have been abused and marginalized?
Yes indeed, when that eight pounder climbs over me in the mornings, I am grateful that I have found such a patient and loving companion.
- ted
