Cats Are People,Too

Kizzy is really making an effort to transition from the skittery, invisible cat she's been playing at for so long to the cuddling, aloof-within-reasonable-limits pet cat I always knew she wanted to be. Our current evening ritual consists of her following me to bed and cautiously working her way from my ankles to my hands, which she often starts before I've even gotten settled under the blankets. For reasons I'll never understand, she begins at the feet, then rubs her way along my leg, back and forth several times before allowing my fingers within a grasping distance. Eventually, the path grows smaller and she moves across my lap, back and forth, while accepting some brief pets from me - but only with one hand, if I dare try a double-handed scritch all bets are off.

What I love the most, though, is how she is clumsy with this routine, there's no sign of a graceful feline whatsoever. Somehow, she manages to trip herself up while simply walking along the blanket. When she gets adventurous and dares a hop up onto my lap, she does it with too much gusto and has to teeter on my thigh to catch her balance. Repeatedly, she misses her mark and ends up headbutting into the side of my hand and casually recovers by walking back towards my feet, as though she meant to do it that way all along.

Silly as it is, this level of interaction with her person is massive progress for Kizzy, and it hasn't been an easy for her to get to this point. What she's going through seems to be exactly how it goes for a person when they're giving something new a try. At first, we stumble along, and, with the encourangment of our friends, we have to push through the painful bits in order to build up our stamina before whatever it is we're trying starts to feel natural and reasonable.

A hike last Sunday nearly ended me. There I was -- escaped from the downtown fog, surrounded by the views and smells and sounds that our hills have to offer - just wheezing away and pausing and kneeling my way through the entire trail. I wanted to give up and never go on a hike again, but my friend did her job well and encouraged me to keep going, that I was doing great, that it's only going to get easier. Of course, she was right.

For these seven years, I've been that person for Kizzy. Keeping the faith that she'll get there eventually. Patting myself on the back for staying so patient and steadfastly encouraging her to keep on trying. But, I wonder, now, if Kizzy is really the patient one in this scenario. Maybe she's the one who has had to be willing to forgive herself for not being able to fulfill her person's expectations from the very beginning. Maybe all this progress I think I've made is really Kizzy's triumph, not mine. Maybe she's got more to teach me than she's been letting on.