After much maneuvering and standing up and plopping back down, Elroy finally worked himself into prime snuggling position, wedged nicely between Wanda (who was cuddled up against Sean) and me. Wanda's head was towards the foot of the bed and Elroy's head was towards the head of the bed, and their feet were almost intertwined, so they looked like they were making yin and yang symbols. My arm was wrapped around Elroy and he snuggled his head alternately on my arm and against it. Within minutes I could hear him snoring.
What makes this whole scene remarkable is that, a short seven or eight years ago, we couldn't even touch Elroy (or Roodle, as we sometimes call him). We could barely look at him without him running away. Elroy was a feral whose every companion had been taken from him. He didn't trust humans until a day before Thanksgiving in 2006, when he suddenly showed up on our back porch in North Charleston and asked to come inside and be our buddy. He went from abject terror to allowing us to pet him with no transition that we could see, and probably very little forethought. Even today, if you catch him on the wrong day or at an inopportune moment, he will dart from your touch as though transported back into a time and place where humans were scary, dangerous things. Those moments clench my heart and I have to remind myself that they will pass, and he will be back on the bed head-bunting us again in no time.
So lying there enjoying the warmth of the bed and the additional warmth of my husband and of a happy kitty or three (Reggie had also come to lie on my chest), I was struck by how poignant this whole scene felt to me. We have six delightful cats, all of whom range in age from 16 to 10 (or, more realistically, 11). We plan on keeping them happy and healthy for a long, long time to come. But reality is that these moments will not last forever. Time will eventually catch up to us, and our little family, much to my distress, will start to disintegrate. I try not to think about it too much. But at the same time, thinking about it reminds me to cherish every single moment with them, no matter if it comes tinged with a patina of kitty litter and cat vomit. Every moment that we are allowed to share our lives with them is precious. Every moment fills my heart with a love and joy that I sometimes feel unworthy of.
The moment with Elroy and the other cats extends. My lower back starts to ache from being in bed too long, but I ignore the pain. My mind floats off to the vacuuming and laundry and emails that need to be attended to, but I force my attention back to this moment. Elroy indulges in a long, slow stretch that carries him onto his back and he hangs there for a moment, all four paws in the air, his face a vision of utter ecstasy. He is exposing his vulnerable underbelly to the people who once seemed so frightening, so alien. He trusts me enough to sleep next to me, completely unguarded, without reservation. Part of me feels like crying. After all Elroy has lost—a father and several friends to the great beyond, and a brother to adoption—his heart is still wide open. You can see it every time he trots along beside Otto with his tail wrapped snugly around Otto’s shoulders. You can see it every time he tussles playfully with Reggie, white belly exposed and inviting. Elroy has suffered more loss in his young life than some people experience as very old adults, and still he clings to the belief that there is still good around every corner…that the world is a safe and happy place…that friends abound, and love is his for the giving and taking. Elroy has so much to teach us.
After a few moments, he rolls
back over to his side and tucks his face into my hand for a few more minutes of
snoozing. I try hard to remember these
moments, to etch them onto my soul for someday when I’m cold and lonely. I try to remember them in my eyes, my skin,
my muscles. I want to hold on to them as
long as I can, because even if Elroy lives another fifty years, this particular moment will never come
again…the way the sun is creeping in the window…the arrangement of buddies…the
yin and the yang.
But like a lovely dream or a
melting snowflake, every magical moment comes to an end. A sudden noise or movement disturbed Elroy,
and he started up, blinking and momentarily disoriented. Slowly, he stretched out his long tuxedoed legs
and tiptoed away to get some water. It
was a gentle reminder that we can’t hold on to the really special moments, but
we can begin to live with the realization that they’re all special moments. They’re
all important.
Yin and yang…the whole is indeed much greater
than the parts.
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