By her mom, Jill Marie
I recall childhood memories of my mother grabbing my hand and hurrying across the street when she would see a neighbor approaching us walking his dog. I remember my mother rushing me inside the house when, from our backyard, we would hear a cat howling in the distance. I remember feeling fear when getting too close to a cage at the zoo. Your world forms as a child. And my world was one without pets. A childhood that involved fearing bugs, puppies, horses, kittens, goldfish – any creature that had fur or fins. We were one of those rare homes without a pet of any kind. It wasn’t until I graduated college that I finally understood the basis of that fear. As a child, my mother was bitten in the face by a dog on Halloween when she went to pet him. That memory left scars that lived longer internally than externally. And the scars were passed on in the form of fear and onto the next generation.
As an adult, the fear of animals for me faded. But I had no attachment or connection to them. I didn’t rush across the street to avoid neighborhood dogs. But I did walk right past them without a second glance. When visiting a friend with a cat, I carefully sat as far away as possible and secretly worried that I might get pet hair on my clothes.
The years passed and I never thought much about animals at all. In fact, I couldn’t understand why having a pet was important and it was beyond my imagination why anyone would shed a tear over a dead pet. For me, it was like bidding a favorite old pair of shoes farewell once they didn’t fit anymore. You miss the sentimental value of them, but you say farewell and then move on, right?
One spring day, a co-worker and I were strolling to lunch on a sunny afternoon. We walked past an animal shelter and she lit up and suggested that we go in and pet some kittens. Of course, I was horrified. Terrifying images of pet hair on our work clothes and the risk of getting bitten raced through my mind. This didn’t sound like a good idea, but I reluctantly agreed to play along.
She handed me a tiny 12-week old kitten. My hands shook slightly as I awkwardly held her a foot away from me to avoid too close of contact. I had to admit, though, the kitten was pretty cute. I handed the kitten back to her and wandered around pretty amazed at all the cats and kittens in the cages. I had never been to an animal shelter before.
As I walked home past the shelter on a daily basis, I found my curiosity drawing me to the windows to peek in. There was a gray small cat in a front cage that held her paw out as if to wave at me. Amused, I found myself waving back. Day after day, I found myself taking the route that would require me to pass the shelter and I would wave at my gray little cat. Before I knew it, the ritual slowly became more than just amusement. It became something I looked forward to – the wave from my little gray cat.
One day, as I walked by, the little gray cat wasn’t in the front cage she normally resided in. I stood in the window and was surprised to find myself feeling disappointment. With a shrug of my shoulder, I continued to make my way home. The next day, I found myself briskly hurrying toward the shelter to see if my little gray cat was back in the front window. She wasn’t. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wondered if she had been adopted. To whom? And why was I losing sleep thinking about some cat anyway?
The next day, emotions were rushing through me that I had never experienced before – was it jealously? Missed opportunity? All I knew for sure was that I was going to find out what happened to my little gray cat that was now a part of my day. That little wave at the end of a long, grinding day was the one moment that was sure to put a smile on my face. So, to the shelter I went. After describing her to the staff, their sweet smiles melted into furrowed brows. “Oh, THAT kitten. Yes. She was brought here as an orphaned newborn 8 months ago, but she’s special. Would you like to see some of the other kittens we have for adoption?”
New to this whole system, I was stumped for a moment and then, alas, my stubborn side dug in. “No. I want to see HER. And what does SPECIAL mean?” Uncomfortable with all the glances and confusing non-verbal communication, I decided I’d better make it clear that I was not leaving until I got some answers. One of the staff members pulled me aside as said, “She has chronic upper respiratory infections and she’s not well.” Ready to go to battle for my cause, my eyes blazed up. “But I’ll show you where she is if you want,” the staff member said. We walked over to a cage in the corner across from a bench. I sat on the bench as she opened the door. The minute the door opened, the little gray cat impressively leapt from the cage across the aisle and landed perfectly on my lap. The cat immediately hunkered down on my lap and put her little paws on the outsides of my legs, as if to hold on.
I’m not sure words can describe this experience. I was 39 years old and had never had any contact with an animal in my life, other than peering through a cage at a zoo. And yet, the moment this cat wrapped her paws around my legs, I felt a rush of emotion that overwhelmed me. It felt like my soul melted into her soul. She felt like she was my child. I knew immediately she was coming home with me. And there was no illness that was going to keep me from making her my new kitty baby, even if we had to fly across the country for treatment. Lucky for us both, we didn’t quite have to travel that far. We found the City Cat Doctor. Now, she is perfectly healthy. She just needed the folks at the City Cat Doctor, a mom and a loving forever home.
Her name is B.B. I am her mom. And we do not have any fear in our home. Only love.
I thought I rescued B.B. But the truth is that she rescued me. I was the one in a cage all my life. A cage of fear. I learned that “animals bite” and eventually discovered that they don’t. They love you unconditionally – everyday. I come home from work and run to hug and kiss her. She is there for me…to cuddle, to sing to, to play with, to tell my secrets to, and to simply marvel at her beauty. I watch her sleep and think about how magical she is; it is impossible for me to love her any more deeply. I just want to put my face up against her and listen to her breathe. She’s mine. And I am hers. I am grateful every day that she waved at me, as if to say, “Pay attention. You’re sleep-walking past the most magical moments in life.”
I’m happy to tell you that I’m awake now. Pay attention to your cats, kittens, and to the love all around you. It’s there for all of us to enjoy. We just need to overcome fear and believe in magic.
