My friends K & T have three black cats (void cats as the internet likes to call them). My friends don’t have any kids, she can’t have kids, but I don’t think they wanted them anyway.
But they fucking love those cats. My friend even has a tattoo of the three of them on her arm. So when they found out one of their cats was really sick it was heart-breaking.
The news came on fast and sudden. Their cat was mostly feral. Literally, they had to put him in a Tupperware bin w/ holes before taking him to the vet and then gas him for any procedures or checkups because he was that feral and could injury the vet techs. He was a high energy cat they found as a stray and took in 10 years ago. D (name omitted for privacy) had the odd quirk of loving and eating fruit. He always wanted a bite if you happened to be chomping on an apple or pear. Fruit holds very little nutritional value for cats, but it was still the ultimate treat for him. They nicknamed him, “Fruit Demon.”
One time I took care of their cats while my friends were out of town and I was advised that the best way to find my way into their cat’s heart was by bringing a banana for him. I remember being a little nervous because D could get wild fast. But he let me feed him a banana, taking ginger bites, and give him fresh water from the tap in his favorite spot (their bedroom/bathroom vanity). It made me feel special…to be let into the safe circle with this creature who didn’t really know me that well. And I find it pretty cool that an animal can make a human feel that special. <3
So when the news came that he was in late stage kidney failure we were all heart broken. Having lost my own cat not even a year ago, I know exactly how much it hurts. In fact, I don’t even think I processed most of what happened with Falco because it happened so fast. Right before Christmas. I wrote one post and then buried it. And when I think about him.. I can barely feel anything. It actually weirds me out how little I feel about it because I cared so very much. He meant a lot to me. So it surprised me when I broke down into tears several times over the last few days. Even in to today, my heart feels sore and tender and it’s not even my cat.
Knowing my friends had scheduled an at home euthanasia, knowing it would be Thursday afternoon, knowing exactly how much that would fucking hurt. Even writing about it I’m getting misty eyed. I wrote in my long Falco post…”It’s just a fucking cat….but it’s my cat.” I think that’s a sentiment a lot of people feel when it comes to their pet. But in particular, for those of us that are child-less/free (depending on how you view it) pets have an even more special place in our hearts. They are our chance at exercising the parts of ourselves that are nurturing and caring, parts that don’t always get to show themselves or that we’re often too timid to share with anyone else. You can be completely vulnerable around a pet and they will never think any differently of you. You don’t always get that with humans.
We dropped off the gift basket this morning. I had asked some other friends to chip-in to make it extra special. I thoughtfully curated and put together local selections of their favorite things and included my painting wrapped in festive bee wrapping paper. I met up another friend of ours who dropped off pastries from their favorite bakery. I slipped away because I had a meeting, but later I got lots of text messages in thanks.
When I decided I wanted to honor their cat D, I thought about him. I thought about how much joy they had with him. He had a bad rap for being wary of strangers. “Don’t look him in the eye”, we used to joke (really though lol). But, we saw lots of pictures of him curled up in my friends arms – the side of him only those that really knew him got to see. I didn’t want to make a portrait that was sad or too simple and have it land flat. I wanted to make something lively, energetic, fun – equal parts his spirit and my aesthetic. Because even if I didn’t experience him that way I know that they did.
My friend who delivered the pastries got to stay and watch them open the painting. He said it was really special. That, I had captured the likeness so well and they didn’t understand how I could make a cat look like a very specific cat. And somehow got all of his favorite fruits in the painting. My friend said the painting was just perfect in every way. That my intuition, on getting the fruit right, the pose, the design, was uncanny…
I think maybe Ben pointed out something similar about me. Or maybe not. But, sometimes I have a way of recognizing things about people…things people don’t say with words and I can sort of translate it. Sometimes I can repeat it back in a way that unravels what they were actually trying to say. That weaves in the intent from their feelings and the words they expressed. Sometimes, I just put it in art or a gift. And I didn’t realize what this was… I didn’t realize that maybe sometimes that’s a skill or gift even. A lifetime of wanting so badly to communicate and being too afraid, too scared to move (like yesterday when I sat motionless for an hour in a therapy session). I never realized it left me with the ability to often hear what people say without words or even behind their words. That kind of communication is one of my native languages. Sometimes I can take it further and see whole scenarios or situations and put the pieces carefully together and think deeply about what they mean. I think that translates into my work often.
When I was kid I often thought there was something wrong with me (well, little did I know there definitely was lol). I remember when I started to notice that the way people spoke would conflict with what I was feeling from them but I would never say anything. I just took things at face value because I figured that’s what they wanted. I do think everyone has this ability to some degree and it can be honed. But there is something special in recognizing it, isn’t there? In putting the pieces together and really understanding.
When I was about twelve I was over at my good friend M’s house. We were sitting at the table playing a board game when her mom made a comment about how quiet I was. I shrunk. I hated it when people noticed me, let alone noticed how I rarely talked. I knew it was odd, something to be ashamed of in our often brazen and loud world. And then she said something that surprised me. Something that I’ll always remember because it was the first time someone made me feel special about who I was instead of wrong.
“That’s okay,” she smiled pausing to shift around her game tiles on the table.
“Still waters run deep, don’t they?”