Sometimes our most helpful insights come to us from the least likely places.

Like today—while observing my daughter in her attempts to push her way into the affections of a visiting kitty cat—I was reminded, quite startlingly, of the dance we all do when navigating the drive to form close and lasting bonds with others, and balancing that drive with a mindful appreciation of the ‘otherness’ of our fellow dancers, of the integrity of their quite separate wholeness.

What a challenge.

It’s poetic and lovely and also often difficult to come to terms with.

The following is a playful exploration of that conundrum with reference to some of the most excellent teachers around—animals.

This meditation started with a little girl and a cat so we will begin the story there.

Part 1: Life Lessons With Peanut

Today my daughter Jyoti and I took care of Peanut, a leggy Siamese kitten with icy blue eyes and a little asymmetrical splash of white across his nose that creates the impression that he’s just run through a spider’s web. I wonder if other cats are drawn to compulsive face washing in his company.

He was in hiding here while the too-zealous real estate agents undertook the ‘inspection’ of the rental property he calls home. Call him an illegal, he’s not on the lease. It most likely has in capitals on the first page: No Pets Allowed. My friends have always known that No Pets Allowed really only means No Pets Allowed on inspection days, and the pets get to go on a little holiday to an auntie’s house. It’s win-win.

I, of course, had forgotten that Peanut was coming over. So when I opened the door in my nightie to find four friends standing in my yard with the kitty in a box and his food and toilet equipment all ready, it was a bit of a scuffle for undergarments and other more appropriate attire. Before we knew it Jyoti and I were alone with Peanut. ‘Can I cuddle him?’ said Jyoti within a moment.

And so it started.

I was reminded of some pretty harsh life lessons watching Jyoti pursuing the affection of Peanut. She wanted to love him. And, of course, it’s nice to be the one that the pets want to snuggle with, isn’t it? We feel chosen and that feels good. At least until the initial buzz of the relationship rubs off. Then we have to do a bit of choosing ourselves and we likely will need a few extra inches between us if we’re going to get a sense of things.

But what I got to see that day is that it’s a tricky business navigating kitty boundaries and getting to know what kitty needs if he’s going to step forward and give out some of that love he surely has all bottled up inside—and we got to see that same love shrivel up if it was too ardently sought after. I’d heard he has been delivering some similarly nifty wisdom to the kids back home.

When the six year olds run after Peanut, he invariably puts some distance between his self and their selves. They lean forward, he leans back. Ugh, isn’t this the dance we all know?

Oh god, is this one of those awful Mars vs Venus rants?

I’m not a fan of that kind of gender reductionism. Or of the whole “how to play the game and get what you want” story. It seems so against the spirit, against spontaneity and feeling.

This isn’t about gender; it’s about the dance.

Here’s what happened—my sister came over and lay on the couch. She acknowledged Peanut invitingly but was happy to watch him after that. She wasn’t acting coy, she was just content to lie on the couch. Peanut, of course, soon joined her. Within a moment this new friend in strange surroundings was lying on his back on her chest purring in ecstasy as she gave him the occasional affectionate tickle. She supported him so that he didn’t topple off, oh oblivion, but she did not stop him.

Poor Jyoti. The harder the little ones try, the tighter their grip, the more tense becomes Peanut. And soon, out come the claws. And then he’s not thinking of pats or how sweet sharing in some affection could be, he’s just looking for the door.

Perhaps Jyoti will remember this relationship. Or better, perhaps I will remember so I can take heed and thereby teach her. Children learn by watching.

I’ve always objected to the implications of this dance. Unless of course I’ve found myself in the lead and then it hasn’t stung as much. But really, aren’t we grown ups? Must we all play games all the time? Can’t we throw open our hearts and our arms without dulling the spark and suffocating the glow that others might feel for us? Well, maybe we can’t.

I suppose if we are all about being allowed to express our hurricane of authenticity at others, then perhaps their capacity to hear it, or express their own in their way, or even know it, is compromised. Sometimes it’s the right thing to let it all out—I’m all for honesty and authenticity—but sometimes…nope.

But let me say this: the tricky thing about ‘other people’ is that they are other people. Like cats. And it pays to know a few things about them since, you know, as they say, “it takes two to tango.”

So, here’s to the essential breathing room between openness and intimacy, to the spaces between us on this chequered dance floor called life—where, given enough room, we get to lose ourselves in the dance and feel it all and surprise ourselves and each other, and we get to really see each other and appreciate each other. Cheek to cheek is nice at intervals, but it’s great to admire the splendid outfits too and that’s hard to do if we are jammed up against each other. We need a few feet to get perspective.

Sometimes the distance is so far that the outfit is just a fabulous blur in the distance—that’s not so great. Or sometimes we lose interest in the outfit or of the person in it. Either we’ve trodden on their toes or they’ve trodden on ours, or some other force has intervened and the magic is ruined for one or the other That’s sad. Quite frankly it’s depressing when something good becomes warped. But then, I’ve not yet looked back on a ‘loss’ of this kind and wished the outcome had been otherwise, so…there’s that too.

But, more on Peanut.

If the first part of this post is about the loose grip of love, the second is about closing the bloody window when you have a kitty in your home.

 

Jyoti went to the movies with her auntie Molly and I went for coffee with my brother Manu. Peanut stayed home to guard against real estate inspections and the like. And then, mysteriously, he went missing.

 

Part 2. The Whole Menagerie.

Loose grip of love—whatever, dude.

I searched my house high and low. I stared desperately and disbelievingly at the tiny crack of window above the toilet and tried to envision the little blighter sliding through it to freedom and likely death. Could he have? Oh no!

I am happy to say that after I ran around the streets checking for smudges of flattened kitty on the road, after I knocked on all the neighbours’ doors and went into yards uninvited calling out “kitty kitty bloody kitty”, and after I texted my friend in a panic—admitting that her very valuable pussycat was on the loose—kitty showed up.

Obviously he didn’t show himself while I was searching, panicking, in tears, getting sunburned, breaking into the neighbours’ yards, imagining the worst. He showed up when my calm sister sat on the couch.

Waltzing out of some corner that I know I searched ten times he plonked himself beside her for some love. Peanut, you’re a terrific jerk of a cat—but the relationship between the therapist and the patient isn’t meant to be one of friendship, so maybe that’s okay.

Still, before we all run out and take courses in cat psychology, ‘navigate your way into kitty’s heart in 4 easy steps’, it pays to know that some of us are just dog people. Remembering this fact that morning (with a little help from a friend) had the effect of relieving me of the burden of having to overhaul my entire personality to accommodate felines (of any gender).

And it’s true, some of us, try as we might, are not suited to that cool lying on the couch not caring attitude that cats prefer, once they willingly relax their claws. We can cope with it some of the time and that’s good. But it doesn’t sit easily with us. In their defense, cats can adjust to being occasionally almost strangled with love, (see, for example, the long suffering cats of the internet).

My brilliant sister may be a master cat whisperer, but her own hellcat had been returned to the pound for being a jerk more than once by less patient pet seekers. She frankly took him home because no one else would and his future was looking very bleak. And because she doesn’t tend to resent the occasional ankle ambush. So sometimes it’s about choosing the right kinds of people for our very inner circle—one’s that not only cope with us, but frankly even enjoy our madness so long as it’s not too out of hand.

Frankly, I’m a horse girl. You don’t particularly need to talk to horses. They know what’s up, you know what’s down. Horses like to get out and about with you, or sit around quietly looking at stuff like daisies and lunch and not squander such rare opportunities for fine company as you could offer them. And the joy; that snorting power and wildness that’s in them, that massive spirit. We get to touch it in their company. How wonderful it is to touch that space with another. Isn’t it a gift?

I miss the particular and exhilarating gallop of my horse friend, the touch of his furry muzzle as he searched for a few extra morsels in my hand, the thick horsey smell of his warm hide on cool evenings or dawn visits before the start of school. Such direct communicators: the swivel of an ear from forward to back can tell you most of what you need to know about the kind of mood they’re in. (In that case, grumpy)

You see, that’s their otherness. We ought to mind it. Which is not to say that they shy away from the messy stuff. My horse was a patient listener throughout my childhood and adolescence. He knew it all, and so sensitively did he stand by my sad or happy side so long as I was holding the bucket.

And I was there, stroking his noble face, as he drew his last breath.

Think of it, really, no one rides a cat to war—Shakespeare knew:

“A horse! a horse! My kingdom for a horse!” ~ King Richard III

We are what we are and when our hearts are all bursting with love or friendship or need or generosity or life effusiveness  it’s a gift not to be squandered. And gosh it’s nice when those around us will humour us while we settle down rather than dash for the cat flap. We always do settle down, eventually.

But, still, I remain true to my thesis: there are simply cats. I’ve been one so I get it. They’re worth the navigating and are at their best when this navigation is undertaken mindfully.

Thanks Peanut, jewel among cats.

~

Author: Dhara Des Fours

Editor: Erin Lawson

Images: Flickr/Esra Erben