I always thought of myself as a dog person, until about fourteen years ago when I acquired a cat because I thought Life Partner would want one. We had just married, and as we were too old to have children of our own it seemed to me like our home still needed some kind of vulnerable soul for both of us to take care of – other than ourselves, that is. And so, at that time, Molly the kitten joined our humble abode. Within a few months I was completely in love with her. I bought numerous books that told me how to care for cats, including ways of understanding the way they learn to communicate with their humans. But, through living with and observing them, I rather think that I learned how to communicate with them instead! And from then on I became an avid cat lady.
Lately, I have been reading through the archives of the blogs that I have been writing for the past eight years, to find where my cats Molly, Ada, Mimi or Oscar are mentioned. I am amazed to discover how many of the posts include those little, furry, feline creatures. It seems they accompany me throughout my life, in the blog whether as asides, thoughts, mentions, or with lengthy descriptions of their behaviors and interactions. Indeed, they are never far from my mind. If they were able to enter my brain and listen to my thoughts, I would say that they know me very well. More than that - my cats are a part of me inside and out. In fact, I am beginning to think they represent me, or that I identify with them. We are, at least in my mind, inseparable. When I prepare to leave on vacation or even for work in the morning I experience pain and longing for them just at the thought of leaving them alone in the house. I imagine they will feel abandoned and despairing, and that they will remain sitting with their noses pressed up to the windowpane searching for me until I return. People tell me that they go to sleep when I leave. But how do they know that for sure?
Surely I am transferring my own childhood fears and feelings onto them?
Not long ago, when little Oscar was very ill, the vet assured me of his resilience, describing the amazing strength feral cats had to survive the most challenging of conditions. She smiled and chuckled when I described the aggressive way I saw Mimi playing with him. I was mortified and fearful worried about how poor little Oscar was being hurt by his sister. The vet gently explained to me that was how cats play together! Was I putting myself in Oscar’s shoes? – Me - a human in the paws of a cat! After he died, I watched Mimi searching for him from room to room. At times she mewed as if calling to him. My heart broke for her as if she was a human mourning the loss of a sibling - as if I was mourning all of my own past losses.
Yes indeed, I realize that there is much more to explore about these symbiotic relationships between me and my cats. I have only scratched at the surface, if you will excuse the pun, gentle reader. In the meantime, I will try to head out on my many travels this month across the Unted States and over the oceans to England and Israel without too much angst and agony at having to leave sweet little Mimi behind with an adoring cat sitter named Lindsey.
Dear Grace,
Thanks so much for sharing your story about Coco. It is, indeed, nice to meet a fellow traveler.
Posted by: Tamarika | June 12, 2013 at 08:47 AM
Our children had dogs, and while I liked them it wasn't until the kids were gone and we adopted a dog that I fell in love. COCO kept us happy and entertained until his death for nine years. So much so that we immeditely adopted a shelter dog named Jolly to fill in some of the void. We are certain that he's human. As was COCO. They learned our habits, our traits as surely as we learned theirs. Leaving Jolly is always hard. We take him everywhere we can. The idea of him being alone too long bothers us terribly. I thought we were alone in this state of being, nice to meet a fellow traveler.
Posted by: Grace Friedman | June 10, 2013 at 01:08 PM