guides

Never underestimate the reason for an animal coming into your life.

I was hoping that the cat I would adopt in late October 2024 would be an “easy” cat. Every animal I’ve ever had was a rescue of some kind or another, often with unique needs. Charlie would finally be the easy cat.

Apparently, that wasn’t the plan.

I knew Charlie’s history, and of a traumatic event that happened while in his previous happy, adoptive home. Despite his people doing everything possible to help him get past it, it didn’t work out. Back in rescue, he was so gentle and easygoing in a roomful of other cats, it could not have been anticipated how that trauma would play out in a new home.

Let’s just say it’s been a long year with Charlie. And we have aways to go yet. That’s OK, we’ll get there, wherever “there” is. He may not be the easy cat I’d hoped for, but he’s the cat who’s meant to be with me … the one who needs me to help heal and teach him, and who I apparently need to help heal and teach me. And he’s also incredibly sweet and lovable.

Why you never underestimate the reason for an animal appearing in your life is that that animal, whatever it might be and however it shows up, is a gift to you.

Some people say, “Oh, it’s just a cat.” Or “it’s just a dog”, asking why I care so much.

No. He’s not “just a cat.” She’s not “just a dog.” They’re fellow beings on this often god-forsaken planet who have come into our lives to grow and love and help us do the same … if we let them.

Take a moment and a long look at your cat or dog (or whatever animal it is) and love them for who they are right now. Let go of who or what you want(ed) them to be, and just see them in their innocence, their willingness to be the best they are able to be. Love them for their scars and their beauty.

Because that’s how they love you.

Times come in our lives when we are ready to open our hearts and homes to a new animal. But how do we know which is the right one for us? The one that is truly meant to be ours?

A little over 13 years ago, one of my two pit bull terriers passed away from complications of cancer. She had been starved and brutally abused. She’d had a very high prey drive and was dog aggressive, but she thrived in my care, and in time, also did so with my other pit bull terrier, Chloe. Chloe was at the opposite end of the spectrum; she truly loved ALL animals. With Chloe then twelve years old, I wanted her to truly enjoy her golden years with me and without the competition of another dog. But I knew she’d love a cat, and I began my search.

Every day that I was at work in the large city shelter, I took my lunch time to look at the over 200 cats awaiting adoption, asking that I please be shown the cat that was meant for me. That cat wasn’t there. Or at least not yet. Not so coincidental to this story, by the way, was the fact that in the office adjacent to mine, worked a lovely man in his 60’s. He was about 5’4″, and his wife was about 4’11”. They were a petite and adorable couple, totally devoted to each other from the days of their young marriage. I told him how happy it made me to see a couple still so in love. He told me it was bashert, i.e., “meant to be” in Yiddish. What a perfect word, I thought, and how perfectly fitting for them. I, too, was on the lookout for bashert, but on a much smaller scale.

One day in early August, I needed to go into work on my day off. Traffic on my usual route was at a standstill, so I took the back way through the neighboring town. As I drove over the familiar railroad bridge, I passed what looked like a crumpled piece of paper, but intuitively I knew better. I backed up and spotted a 5 week old tuxedo kitten, waiting to be hit by a car or plunge to his death 100 feet below.

I managed to catch the terrified and elusive kitten, brought him to the medical department for a gentle baby bath for fleas, and then to my office. Too young for inoculations, he wouldn’t fare well in a shelter with so many animals, so I decided to foster him until he was stronger – in my office on workdays, otherwise, home with me. He was so tiny, I was afraid he’d got lost or stuck in the house, so I set him up in my bedroom in a large Great Dane crate, complete with bed, blanket, litter and food and water. He screamed bloody murder.

The next evening the same. I closed the bedroom door and let him out. He made a beeline for a comforting spot under my Chloe’s chin. Mom! For two more weeks I followed this routine, everyone suggesting I keep him. My reason for not wanting to do so was that everyone will adopt a kitten; I would take a middle age or senior cat, a bonded pair, a cat with feline leukemia, i.e., a hard-to-place cat. Someone would surely fall in love with him quickly.

Then it happened. I looked at this very verbal little pipsqueak of a kitten, nestled with his new adoring mom, and found myself saying things like, “Now appearing in the Shakespearean production of I Claudipuss ….” or coaxing him with Monsieur Claude, or “Where’s my Cloudy Paws?” You get the picture.

I had asked to be shown the cat that was meant to be mine, and it had nothing to do with what I thought I wanted, but everything to do with who needed me. And so we need to be open to our choices in animals. I do believe every animal that I have had was truly meant to be mine. Perhaps I saved his or her life, perhaps in some other way, she or he saved mine. Animals are our teachers and guides, and may come to us in the most unexpected species, breeds, time and manner. They may be brought to us, or we to them, but we must always listen to our hearts.

Today that teensy feral kitten is a long and lanky 16 pound cat with tuxedo markings, but with all the features of an Oriental breed – short, smooth coat, long face, body and tail, and oh, yes, the (sometimes very annoying) vocalizations. His names today are Claudie the Dog Boy, (for all the dog tricks he happily performs), Mr. Freshy McFresh Face, and just plain Claude or Claudie. But it was those first silly names that were the tip off, (that and his instant attachment to Chloe), that he was meant to be mine, kitten or no.