Empathy for a Cat

Why not people?

Miss Reese in fine form. She’s actually used to being a “test subject,” which is a sweet attribute for tolerating me as her mom | Shot on Fuji-x

I have countless pictures of cats. Everywhere I go I photograph cats. All unique, complex and oh so beautiful in their own special way. I say “special” because many truly have special needs, our calico cat in particular. You see, our cat “Reese,” aka Miss Reese, Reesey Bear and “the worst cat in the universe,” among other names, is probably a personality mix between an outdoor Maine Coon, Jaguar and an extreme daddy’s girl.

The “affectionate,” goofy, head-rubbing, teasing on our furniture as we walk by, saying things like “hey you’re so cute, and what the H-double-sticks have you done to my couch? (and chair? and wallpaper?) mixed with the confident, brave, and always ready to take action, floating like a butterfly, stinging like a bee moves… moves that are “quick, brutal, and highly aggressive.” I’ve actually experienced a black eye from one of her pops while joining in on her playful game. I learned my lesson and proceeded to shoot a three-day job with dark sun glasses on. Thankfully I didn’t lose an eye.

Charmingly beautiful and “mostly mellow” if left alone.

Reese is not a comfort cat, like the one that lived in my dad’s hospice. She is only there to comfort my husband John and she can lay him down at night, as if suffocation is her number one goal. Que obnoxious purr motor to boot. I have posted many pictures with the hashtag #howcloseistooclose.

This has been ongoing for 12 years, her entire life (and a decent portion of ours!). Recently, I made the decision to create a bedtime boundary because I believe Reese will most definitely break a Guiness World Record for “the longest living cat. “Marriage and sleep matter! My husband is fiercely dominated by her, rather a pushover, so I had to do the dirty work. I kicked her out at night for good. Despite believing she would lose her mind, as she often yowls like she’s dying, shockingly, her running-man attempts on the door and crying only lasted one evening. Like a defiant child, she accepted her fate and her cat-bed on a couch.

Fear is most definitely the number one driver in all humans to do the right thing.

The yowling has all been for attention since Reese was little. In our old house I would often find her coily hollering from a high place, or tightrope walking on the staircase hand railing. I could not approach her for fear she would head-rub and fall from the second story.

In her older age she has slowed down taunting me, or as she likes to call it, “playing.” We don’t have a staircase anymore from which she can race me down, suddenly falling into a bashful pile, while I quickly catch myself averting death at the bottom. I had long warned John he might find me unresponsive by the front door, right where our staircase began.

I no longer walk with my hot coffee each morning to an office space away from the kitchen. I work in the kitchen. For many years Reese would hide as I made my way to the office. I could only imagine her excitement, shaking as cats do, before the pounce. Out of nowhere she would run and back slap me between my shoulder blades, coffee dripping… then fall into a sliding skid, tail tripled in size, slapping the ground. She was so random, that I’d forget. It was as if she thought “it’s been three weeks! Time to do it!” I learned to walk backwards.

I am her constant source of food, water, comfortable beds (and furniture) and outdoor cat-sitting (to release the wild in her). We got Reesey Bear from a friend when we lived in a wilder mountainous area. Coyotes roaming near our present home in the city, and a lot of traffic, has continued to render her an indoor cat, although we feel this is her main issue. Miss Reese was taken from her mama too early. Unfortunately her wild, often feral, protective personality, tamed inside, with long isolated and “alone” naps, is a direct result of lack of bonding. It also makes sense that she has chosen “only us” as her friends and parents.

A poor little mama cat fetching food, only to come back and find her children gone. Sounds a bit like the hardships of life under a non-sympathetic system.

I realize she needs us. Like people, she needs us. How can our entire life with her be a walking statement of “careful! she’s a bit complicated and needs her space?” Especially now with grandchildren coming over. She’s a cat! It breaks my heart that my littlest granddaughter refers to her, with sweetness, as “Meow Meow,” and wants to be near her, pet her, and talk about her green eyes as if to point out something good about her, while keeping her distance in my arms. Meanwhile Reese stares and scouls with theatrical perfection as she’s shown a stuffy that looks just like her.

“Meow Meow” the stuffy I bought my first grandson because he loved Reese so much and at least this one he could touch! Now it’s his little sister’s. Violet carries her with pride and longs to have Reese’s acceptance. Sigh. Violet sleeps with Meow Meow.

Yesterday, I was thinking how sad that we have patience and empathy for an animal, yet we disregard people so easily, although we dump animals like trash in our society far too often. I have written about it. Animals, like people, have become extreme poster children for popular social media accounts and red-listed at the shelters, or like people, ignored on the streets.

The definition of empathy is the capacity to understand or feel what another person is experiencing from within their frame of reference, that is, the capacity to place oneself in another's position.

In these last three years I have come to the conclusion that great empathy is the key to getting closer to God’s purpose of “dying to self.” It is He who makes you stop and open your eyes to empathy. How do I take my hurt feelings and turn them into compassion for others? How do I understand someone that I can’t understand? How do I defy what I know to be wrong and keep my empathy? How do I walk in trust, broken, imperfect, hoping for similar compassion?

The answer? by thanking Him for His love and compassion on me, even when it hurts.

How do I love the cat?