What I Learned from My Kitten

And… It’s Spring!

I don’t know about you, but as a writer, and person, I find that my sense of well-being is infused with energy and zest when I’m curious and following the breadcrumbs to the next idea/adventure/ project. Making discoveries. All my life I’ve been curious about stories of people which is why memoir has always drawn me—discovering and helping writers discover the real stories about survival and struggle and how we humans gather ourselves to endure, even thrive. Yet, we live in a world where there are potential threats to thriving. It’s not a new story—we tend to live as if we expect the status quo will continue on its merry way. It’s no surprise, if we stop to think about it, that we can’t take anything for granted. Yet there are gifts that arrive in this unknowing. There is grace—more sunlight as the Equinox is upon us. Gardens blossoming. The feel of the sun on our skin. And there are the joys of getting a new kitten.

You might think it strange that I get all philosophical when I bring up the story of my kitten. But her story is like so many humans I know, whose memoirs I read and edit. She was orphaned at the age of two weeks and was cared for by some nice people, who then put a video on Facebook where I saw the cuteness of these kittens. Tuxedo kitties, and girls! Oh my. My children and I were charmed by tuxedo kitties through several generations of their families and my own for over thirty years. We had babies and raised them, the children sometimes helping to deliver them in the middle of the night. We loved the mothers and sometimes we had too many kittens in the house, several generations. We did put a stop to that but having 12 kitties swarming about our feet before they all found homes is a memory we all hold about our shared family past, and how our love of kitties has bound us together as a family.

We all have traditions, and I’m blessed that we have that to laugh about these thirty years later. Needless to say, though I adore my Maine Coon Harvey and his step-brother Charlie, a Norwegian Forest cat, my heart leapt at the thought of another tuxie in my life.

How do you know what to name a kitten? She was tiny, a four week old kitten who could barely walk, but when I brought her home, she quickly rushed over to Charlie, a cuddly round guy who decided the first day to teach her how to be cat, and he also let her know he’d be her mother for a while.

This is what we need in life when we’re orphans. We need adoptive mothers of any sex. We need to be groomed and cuddled and we need to be bathed thoroughly and shown that we are part of a family. Harvey was more cautious, but he’s always been that way, having been on his own, who knows his biography, for five months before I met him. He and Charlie were at Milo when I found them two weeks after my beloved Squeaky died. I cried for two weeks, then went to Milo and brought the boys home the same day. You can mourn and love at the same time.

We are all orphans. I essentially was and looked for mothers everywhere. I found some or they found me, so I know about this. Somehow immediately I knew her name was Minou. Was it that I’d spent five years “in France” researching my first novel The Forger of Marseille? Was it that her personality hinted at a spirited main character who, no matter what, was keen on survival? Her mother had died, she had no father, she was in a strange house, then another one, and yet—what a spirit! At first, I was worried. She made it clear she was not to be pitied. No cuddling, no eye contact. Strict protocols about being touched-only Charlie could reach her, I saw that I had to let her be, welcome her, feed her, try to touch her, but not be intrusive.

Along the way, she did cuddle on my lap sometimes, and later, she didn’t run when I looked at her. Then about 6 months in, she began to look me in the eye and talk. “Please feed me. Let’s play. Here is the feather fun toy. Play with me!”

I trained her to come to me, and let me touch her for a second, and then I rewarded her with play. We moved on to me picking her up for a quick cuddle—it lasted two seconds at first, then longer, and one day I detected her purring. And she no longer leaped away from me.

Now, I can pet her, and she calls out often for play. The way to her heart was to let her leap like a ballerina and soar into the air. To let her be who she is.

We’re all family now, our little tuxie Minou tucked into our hearts. Showing me the way—to be patient. Trust in the long path of love. Take each moment to heart.

A great way to celebrate my birthday on the 19^th as we move into the fullness of Spring!