Needs for an Open Heart
For nearly 17 years, a cat I named, Bobbi, graced my life with her presence. Bobbi's sweet personality endeared her even to non-cat people. She offered her friendship readily in exchange for a gentle head rub. In many ways, Bob was a simple girl, and in her simplicity an extraordinary teacher.
By far, Bobbi was the neediest cat I'd ever met, let alone lived with! She adored me to distraction, and as a result, desired to be as close to me as possible - all the time. We're talking, trying to climb into my shirt, because she couldn't figure out how to slip under my skin.
This kind of love felt overwhelming and oppressive for about the first 10 years we spent together...maybe more. But, somewhere along the way, I grew to accept, "This is just how Bobbi loves me, and I don't get to control, or decide how, she does it." Imagine applying that lesson to the people in your life... a work in progress lesson for me.
When three cat companions, Bobbi, Hazel, and Nadine, comprised our family, Nadine was my favorite. Unlike the others, we allowed her outdoors. In turn, Nadine had her own independent life, plus the life she shared with us. Most nights she came home and jumped in bed with me for a two-handed-pre-slumber rub down, while she stood on my chest. With our ritual complete, she tucked herself between me and the edge of the bed to rest.
Nadine became both my feline child and my friend. Her independence and more worldly nature created a comparative peer relationship. And for me, that was easier and far preferable to Bobbi's neediness. Nadine loved me, but truly, she didn't need me. At one point, she lived on her own for four months. When we found her, she was as thrilled as I to be reunited, but she remained in good health during her absence, feeding on birds and mice, and enjoying the spring weather.
Years later, Nadine disappeared for an extended vacation again. This time, though, the fall months stretched into winter, and in early spring, we received a call from a neighbor. A dead cat was discovered under her husband's defunct and tarp-covered sports car, and she felt certain it was our girl. I cried the tears of the inconsolable, because I'd lost my friend, and she was alone at the end. Nadine, who rarely missed a night beside me, unless engaged in one of her adventures, probably got hit by a car - found a dark, quiet space, and met death in solitude.
In Nadine's absence, Hazel became my favorite. (Yes, I know it's sacrilege to admit to having favorites, but let's be honest, we all do! Okay, maybe not you...maybe.) A couple of years prior to Nadine's death, Hazel got so ill, she nearly died. Her disease required me to feed her every four hours, around the clock, through a feeding tube. Until then, Hazel far preferred my husband to me. Mark was her human. During her illness, though, we bonded more. She still craved Mark's attention and solace, but she was stuck with me, and through the experience we developed a stronger connection.
Hazel possesses an ability to hide her sweetness behind a mask of indifference and annoyance. I appreciate that about her. Even now, when she shares her furry self with me, I feel like it's a treat, and I feast love upon her until she deems the rain barrel full. For a time, Hazel's aloofness felt easier for me to deal with than Bobbi's obsessive love. Like Nadine, Hazel mirrored where I personally was, rather than what I needed to learn.
Bobbi was always different. Her love, so potent, eventually broke through the ice in my heart, and allowed me to accept, not only her needs, but my own. Bobbi reflected the needs within me that I sought to reject, and with her relentless persistence, she taught me how to love her fully, even in her neediness. In so doing, I learned to love and accept my own neediness. Kind of miraculous, really.
As if that weren't gift enough, I discovered, when I am brimming with love for myself - filled from the inside out - I inherently have a boundary. In knowing where I end and another begins, I possess clarity that I am not responsible for meeting and satisfying Bobbi's (or anyone's) every need, despite her desire for me to do so. Amazingly, once I truly "got it," two things happened:
She became less desperate in her attempts to crawl under my skin...and...
My love got big enough to provide a container when Bobbi truly did need me. Then, I willingly offered her everything I could to meet her need - including space to die without me present - when every part of my being wished I could be beside her.
We found a balance between us of harmonious love, respect, and affection.
Don't get me wrong, she still loved me obsessively until she died, but I was no longer put off by it. Rather, my heart opened fully to what she offered me, and from that place, even more lessons came forth.
In this moment, though, on the one month anniversary of her death, I sit in extraordinary appreciation for Bobbi's neediness and her unconditional love. To teach a stubborn human (me!), that my needs are acceptable; that the needs of others are both allowed and not my responsibility to attend to; and that loving with an open heart, includes loving me first - thereby fostering a clear boundary...well, I'm pretty sure she was just a guardian angel with black and white fur. I'm profoundly grateful she was mine.
With love and an open heart,
Joanne Lutz