Taking time

the gifts awaiting if we can slow enough to embrace them

Kitty has much on his mind

Over the last few years, I've been fortunate to make some wonderful new friends in our little community in the foothills. I love the morning walks that begin many days with my neighbors chatting about life. Those walks center my day. My writer's group, which tries to meet twice a month, offers me incredible support regarding our craft and so much more. And my newest pastime playing MahJongg with a group of lovely ladies once a week-- we sit together in silent deliberation regarding our next moves, commiserate about learning the game, laugh together like a bunch of school girls, and still find time for a few in-depth conversations. 

How lucky am I to have found these new friends? VERY!

During the fire, I made a different sort of friend… a feral cat. 

Something about earning the trust of animals and children makes me feel pretty special. It's likely because animals and children are instinctual beings. They are not influenced by wealth or status, words, appearance, etc. They know nothing of what humans tend to judge each other based upon. 

Instead, they sense you, something we humans could take a lesson on.

Our neighbors, Barbara and David, have been caring for a feral cat for years. Initially, the cat would only come around every now and then. But over the years, they have built trust, and the cat will now enter their home to be fed— a big deal for a feral cat. 

When Barb and Dave leave town, they ask me to come over and put some food in the cat bowl on their back porch. Years ago, I never saw the cat when I came over. I'd leave the food and it was always gone when I returned, but I never knew whether the cat was eating the food or a raccoon. 

On my visits over the last year, I'd see the cat dart off when I arrived. He was there, waiting. I took comfort in knowing he would be back to retrieve the food intended for him as soon as I left.

This year Barb and Dave had a 2-week trip planned, which coincided with the fire. Since we were under an evacuation warning, I had nothing but time on my hands. The first few times I arrived, the cat was sleeping on one of the chairs on the porch. He darted away as I approached, but didn't disappear this time. The first day he simply retreated beneath the deck staying close— meowing, something new. I filled his dish and talked back to him. He remained beneath the deck, but bid me farewell with his meows.

The second day he jumped out of the chair but stayed on the deck with me, probably ten to fifteen feet away. He proceeded to tell me of his woes. 

"Where are my adoptive human parents? What are all these loud flying objects in the sky? And why is it so smoky?" His eyes and the tone of his meow told me a story. I told him I completely understood his concerns. I shared my own with him, but reassured him that I had faith we'd all be okay and that I'd be back soon.

As the days progressed, his tone mellowed. He still was missing his peeps, but he didn't have that desperate sound to his meow. Most days, he would run to a distance he felt safe but then remain close enough to tell me more of his story. Because of our evacuation warning, I had the extra time to listen. 

As the days passed, he continued to hold out, refusing to return to the bowl of food if I was still on the deck. 

On the last day, I told him I had enjoyed our time together and would see him again soon. I filled his bowl and then stood mid-deck. He watched me from the other side of the gate, sharing a few last stories with me. It took him probably ten minutes and a few tries, but he finally slid through the railing, passed me by, and headed over to his bowl. 

Awww, like I said, the trust of children and animals… there are not many things that rival those feelings. (I have a video that for the life of me I can’t load. Darnit.)

The last part of this story is my realization that I'd have missed something pretty special if I had not been on hold, forced to slow enough to engage with a feral cat. And I wouldn't be sharing this in my newsletter. 

Life is extremely complicated. Our drive and zest for life produces miracles on our planet, inventions, cures, and technology, allowing me to even send my thoughts out into the world. But slowing down is also pretty magical. Finding that happy medium may just be the secret to a life well-lived.

Going forward, I'm hoping I don't require a wildfire to slow it up enough to pay attention to the special gifts that surround me.