The cat and the narcissist

If you crave right relationship with a cat, give up being a narcissist. You could kick the miserable thing for bringing in a still-breathing chickadee. You could plot the rouge’s death by hanging after he peed on your Heart Throb’s new tweed jacket. You could scream “Bad Kitty!” when it chooses your hand-made hook-latch rug for its preferred pee-pad. But if you behave as though you ran the universe and you are displeased when a cat misbehaves, you are a narcissist.

My husband Don enjoyed a brief summer remission from leukemia. I kept his slowed-down weakened pace because I was confined to a straight-leg, non-weight bearing cast to heal from a chipped tibia and avoid knee surgery. We spent those long-ago days basking in the sun, smelling the Royal Sunset climber and languishing under the purple and white wisteria blooms (Garfield high school colors in honor of our four daughters who had gone there).

The kittens were five weeks old when I picked them up from Mary’s. Their eyes were stuck shut, their fur dull and matted, their tails droopy. Their mother was malnourished. Mary lived in a basement apartment on Broadway. Foot traffic clattered inches from her only window. Her cat, a stray Mary had let in, sang an operatic song of lust during my visit earlier that March.

Mary had found me in the phonebook under Shaklee Products. A previous experience with Shaklee’s Soy Protein Powder and Vita Lea multi prompted her call. When her disability check came most months, she put money aside for those two products.

The night I was visiting, her cat was in her first heat responding to Spring’s call to create new life. Mary had invited four women friends over for a demonstration of Shaklee’s new body care line. I arrived straight from the University Hospital after handing over the chemo vigil to one of our daughters. In 1992, the cancer killing therapy did not include anti-nausea medication and Don needed someone to help him to the bathroom and clean up when he couldn’t make it.

I sat on the floor in Mary’s one-room place. The couch, being the only seating, was full of her guests. In my grief and dread of Don’s almost certain death to come, I looked up at these women. After a pause of anticipation, I suggested they give me their feet, one at a time. Mary poured warm water into the basin I brought. I placed a towel next to my folded knees (the knee break happened later). The first woman awkwardly took the holey sock from her right foot and placed in my waiting hand. I poured a little body wash into the water and began to massage the bunioned foot. Her hand rested on her heavy sweater. She breathed out a sigh. After drying her foot, Mary took the basin, refilled it with fresh warm water. I went down the line taking the feet of strangers into my basin. Their nervous chatter and embarrassment dissipated. A calm settled in the space, interrupted by the cat’s clamor for escape. Mary let her out to the street. The peace that settled over us wiped out the difference in our life circumstances. Foot washing levels everyone. We are all givers and receivers.

Mary called me a few weeks later to say her kitty was pregnant and could I bring two cans of protein powder. She shared it with her cat when there was no money for cat food. I asked for the first pick of the litter. When they were born, I took two. Their names became Wildman and Princess.

Me in a cast and Don, weakened by chemo, shared delight and laughter as the two kittens gained strength, developed clear eyes, strong nails and teeth, and soft silky fur.

They peed on the hook-latch rug.

I was furious and wanted to hurl them into the next room. Their litter box was in the basement. They should know better.

I called a vet who sent me an instruction sheet (no quick email attachment or google search in 1992).

CATS ARE NOT MALICIOUS. THEY DO NOT INTEND TO CAUSE HARM.

If their behavior does not please you, change their environment. Provided with an appropriate place to relieve themselves, they will choose it every time.

In other words. Pay attention. Show up without an agenda. Be curious. Be compassionate. Do not be attached to your own desired outcome such as selling skin care products to a group of welfare recipients or hammering on kittens for being naughty.

As per instructions, I placed aluminum foil over the peed-on area of the rug. Cats don’t like the feeling of tinfoil under their feet. Placed the litter box right next to the patch of foil. Within ten days or so the litter box was back in the basement. We had moved it a few feet each day.

Cats and humans are not naturally predisposed to malice of forethought. With a little curiosity, it is possible to find common ground. But only if I let go of my need to be right.