A Most Unusual Cat

"...He had been gardening again and held in one hand the kind of wide-bladed, lime-green grass that grows at the untended edges of sidewalks and lawns.  He shook the dirt free, pulled out a half dozen of the longer strands, smoothed them, then twisted them into a flimsy green braid.
     'Time', he said, holding up the braid to me.  He indicated one end, then the other, 'Maybe one thousand year.' He touched the individual stalks of grass tenderly. 'Souls, Spirits. You see?  You, your father, your mother, sister, wife, children, you see? Your spirit is together with their spirits like this, tight against each other. That is why you were born into this [l]ife together.  He pulled one strand out and tossed it up into the sunlight.  'Maybe one of these people, or two, not so close after this [l]ife.  But people you really love, spirits that are close to your spirit, you see? They tie around tight to you,  [l]ife after [l]ife."

-Breakfast with Buddha by Roland Merullo


I read this book several years ago, but this was a part from the book that entered into my mind upon getting to know Vincent.  Vincent is a cat and I am quite sure that he has become one of the strands of grass in my braid of time.

Vincent came to the farm slightly over a year ago.  A feral cat, wild and frightened of anything and everything human.  Only enticed closer by the lure of food that is left out nightly for the resident clowder of cats.  He would wait until we had put the food down and then would warily creep into the mob of cats and grab a few furtive bites before any move on our part would send him flying.  Skinny, crumpled ears, and starving, night after night he would get just ever so slightly braver until finally, after many months of very slow and patient work by my kids, he let one of them touch him.  Always only afraid, never mean.  Cats have two defense mechanisms that they work from when they are in over their heads - they become incredibly ferocious, or they do everything in their power to flee - Vincent was always the second.

At our farm, when a new cat arrives, it is given a certain amount of "breaking in" period before the local vet - that's me- steps in and insists on said cat being a more socially acceptable pet, by which I mean neutered/spayed and vaccinated. Vincent was having none of me anywhere near him even with food available, and carrying a net looked especially worrisome to him.  I left the net in the care of my son and within a few days of trial and escape, Vincent came to the door of the house, trapped in the net under much duress just as I was in the process of making pizza on a Sunday night.  Time and tide may wait for no man, but neither does a cat in a net.  In short order Vincent was anesthetized via an injection in the muscle, tested for several nasty cat viruses by doing a simple blood test, vaccinated and neutered.  All while laying on my front porch surrounded by four (and sometimes five) curious kids - my son opted out of watching the neutering process.   Anesthetic reversed and by the time the pizza was done, he was completely recovered and had staggered off in the direction of the barn.


What happened to that cat during that process, I have no idea.  From that point on he is always around.  He sits just outside the door on the stoop so that you almost step on him when going outside - even in the very coldest of weather.  When I go anywhere on the farm, he trots along beside me as though he is a dog trained to heel.  When I cook in the kitchen, he sits on the small table just outside my window and monitors closely.  The other cats on the farm will drift by and briefly interact with me while on their own personal missions of self satisfaction, but for whatever reason, Vincent seems to have appointed himself as my personal entourage while at home. He loves attention and will purr and roll affectionately around your feet and legs.  Gina, my typically cat-intolerant dog, loves him and will actually allow him to eat out of her bowl right under her nose. 

And so I ask myself, who is this little soul that seems to have adopted me?  I sometimes peer into his round, furry face as he loyally sits by my side while I garden and think, "Who are you?" and more often, "Who am I to deserve this affection and loyalty?"  How can something that was absolutely terrified of all things even remotely related to me, suddenly change and appear to love with such complete abandon?  Human beings don't have the monopoly on souls, as far as I am concerned.  An animal's ability to love unconditionally so far outstrips our own that at times it is shameful.  Whatever the reason, from where ever he came,  I hope his soul is one of those that stays with mine for all time.