Okay, this may be kinda long & definitely gruesomely NSFW but bare with me. Some of it is hard to read but please finish the story or continue no further.
When I was growing up we had many dogs as pets but no cat. My mother is highly allergic & my dad taught us that cats were a “nuisance” animal. Varmints. Critters that were the equivalent of Raccoons, Armadillos, or the dreaded hellspawn modernly known as the opossum. When something was tearing into the trash we would set the ‘catch-em-alive’ trap & if/whatever we caught the following morning was dug a grave & dispatched a.s.a.p. More often than not, before going to school. This practice continued every night until the trash was no longer being torn into. As a coping mechanism you try to convince yourself it’s nothing different than a rat, or cockroach. Eventually, you build up a numbness to the slaughter of small animals. So much so that it has become something akin to a morning cup of coffee when you have to extinguish the life of several only days old raccoon pups because you just took their mother & it would be cruel for them to struggle without her. By the age of 19 I no longer enjoyed hunting deer, or anything for that matter. Taking life, even though only animal, had wore my soul too much. The side effect of this was that I reached adulthood valuing a cats life as much as a cockroach. This continued throughout the interceding years. I never understood the Internet cat video thing & anything to do with cats flew right over my head.
All reaching a vector point. My wife decided to get our son a cat. I wasn’t happy but I wanted my son to be, so I dealt with it. I really tried hard to love the thing but it was like trying to love a lice. It never felt anything but awkward. That cat was injured & broke everyone’s heart when she couldn’t be saved. The way my wife dealt with our sons loss & grief was a masterclass in parenting. She explained that ‘Lucy’s’ heart would appear again in another cat, & we just had to look for her. This helped ease the heartache but also meant another cat was on the way. I was terrified at the thought of them both hurting so badly again but deferred to my wife’s judgment. Not too long after Lucy’s funeral my wife was offered a opportunity adopt a feral cat that lived under a shed for the entirety of its short life. She explained to our son that ‘Lulu’ had ‘Lucy’s’ heart & as he accepted her arrival with open arms I tensed with nervousness at the eventual pain they would feel with her future loss. I immediately began trying to trick myself into accepting the equivalent of a rat at a fancy dinner party.
A very strange thing happened though. Something that now seems completely obvious but totally caught me off guard. I actually started liking this cat. Maybe it was her gentle timid standoffishness, wariness, & mistrust of everyone & everything. Or perhaps her damaged but curious naiveté. Or maybe I was just subconsciously projecting all my feelings onto her. Whatever it was I was really beginning to dig this cat. Just as I really started enjoying having her around, all of a sudden she didn’t come home one night. This turned into two & three nights. After a while it seemed our second cat was lost. We had all but given up on her return. It seemed appropriate that the first cat I ever liked would disappear.
After being gone for nearly a week a neighbor came down & said he thought she was hiding under his shed. Even the mere prospect of her return created a buzz in our home. My wife & son we’re both full of joy & excitement & I have to admit I was a little ecstatic, myself. When my wife arrived several minutes later holding a very scared, but okay, live-action ‘𝘗𝘶𝘴𝘴-𝘪𝘯-𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴’ I was filled with relief. I was so happy to not have to see my family go through that terrible grief again. Also, if I’m being honest, I wanted ‘LuLu’ to stick around for a while. Over the past few days her sweet & gentle nature has crawled deeper into my heart. This finally reached a crescendo only a few hours ago. She was laying on my lap dozing, only taking the occasional break to have a death-match with a bread twist-tie. She left for a few moments only to reappear on top of the dresser. I watched as she slowly & deliberately crept along. Finally making it to the end, where my turntables silently await. I watched more intently as she built the courage to swat at one. Her surprise followed closely as the platter began to slowly spin. Another well-placed paw provided the inertia needed for her cat brain to connect cause & effect. I was stunned at what I was witnessing, DJ ‘Puss-in-boots’ was in the house. That was it. End the story. Close the book. She has now taken her place in my heart. A feat never achieved by any other cat.
The moral of the story, if there is one, People can change. You can drop all the hate right now & be someone new. The journey from racist to compassionate travels at the speed of light. You can change your opinions at any time just by doing it. This is true for any mind change. It only takes decision.
