Project Gracie
“We’re all just walking each other home.”
Hazel and Bobbi as kittens
Within about two years, we euthanized two of our furry family members. Our girls, Bobbi and Hazel, were litter mates, and lasted to the ripe old ages of 17 and 19 respectively. When Bobbi joined the world of the dearly departed, I received a visitation from her in a dream. She told me: "the next cat must come from a shelter."
While we'd adopted shelter cats in the past, at the time of Bobbi's death, our remaining three cats had all come to us as kittens from extended family in CT. We weren't opposed to the idea of a "rescue cat," we just knew the time wouldn't be right while Hazel ruled the roost.
In accordance with Bobbi's directive, about seven months after Hazel's death, we started visiting rescue facilities. Because our two boys qualified as old men (12 years young), we'd been told a younger cat might integrate more easily into our family system. A kitten or teenager would likely abdicate the power role to those already in the house, whereas a full adult might be more aggressive.
Gracie spying herself in a mirror, shortly after she came home
On Memorial Day weekend 2018, after months of searching, we found this beautiful, sweet young gal. She would not leave her bed in the kennel to visit with us, but she'd allow ceaseless petting and chin rubs. The Animal Rescue League didn't have much info about her, but they believed she was not more than a year old, which worked with our parameters.
Have you ever been with a cat in the car (in a cat carrier!)? My personal experience consists of loud meowing throughout the ride. Gracie (formerly Tracey) never uttered a peep. When we brought her to a "safe room," where she'd get to experience our home in a limited - hopefully NOT overwhelming - capacity for as long necessary, she immediately raced under a piece of furniture with about six inches of clearance, burrowing her face in the corner. Like the kind of game involving covering your eyes and saying, "You can't see me!"
Darling, Gracie. So terrified! My strategy: lay, belly down, on the floor with her -stretch my arm beneath the cabinet - and pet her while she inhabited the safe corner. Mostly, she allowed this...for days. When closed up in the room, alone, she moved under the sofa (only a four inch clearance!). Since I couldn't reach her, we moved the sofa a bit, then Gracie could safely tuck herself behind the furniture, rather than under it. This new system worked better all around, as it afforded humans a place to sit, while extending an arm behind to love her up. Whether she was annoyed or delighted by this turn of events remains a mystery. Either way, the situation inspired her to come out from her hidey-hole, and peek around the corner occasionally. This dynamic lasted weeks.
After Gracie moved in with us, I spent countless hours on the floor. Because, unlike any cat I'd ever met, she refused to leave the ground. She wouldn't jump on the couch, on a chair, on my desk, onto the windowsill, not even the two inch elevation of the cat scratcher or the "safe, princess bed" that came with her from the shelter. Hmm...what to do about our new family member?
In an effort to best care for Gracie, I contacted a spiritual medium to see if any special actions could be taken to allow this pretty girl to feel safer. The answer I received was this:
"Meet her where she is, and just love her exactly as she is. This is what all beings want and need."
Okay, part of me knew this to be true; I mean look at how Eeyore is treated. However, when Gracie entered my life, I engaged in active daily practice.
The Animal Rescue League offers a 30-day return policy. If the pet we adopted didn't work out, we could return her within the month for a full refund. This notion, while unappealing, became a topic of conversation between me and Gracie about two weeks after she'd moved in. Okay, to be fair, I did all of the talking, because she rarely made peep.
In our conversations, I explained that I yearned for her to be part of our family. And while I realized it just might take more time for her to settle in, I also wanted to respect her wishes. If she didn't want to stay with us; if she believed there was some place else for her to be, I would sadly accept that. More than anything, I wanted whatever might be best for her, and if we weren't it, then, I'd lovingly let her go.
Gracie with a toy mouse on her head
Two days later, I took her to our veterinarian for the first time. During this ride, unlike any experience I'd had with her to date, Gracie meow-talked at me for the entire 25 minute drive. I know I might anthropomorphize my cats, but what I heard from her was this:
"Please don't take me back. I want to stay. Please don't take me back!"
I called my husband, Mark, crying into the phone, letting him know, no matter how hard it might be to integrate Gracie into our world (because our senior boy cats, one in particular, longed to eat her as a snack) we'd figure it out.
When we got back in the car after leaving the doctor's office, Gracie made a peep or two, and then remained silent. It's as though she knew she'd found her way home, and would be returning there directly.
Since that fateful car ride, Gracie has evidenced in a myriad of ways, she's arrived home. It's been a S L O W process; however, I love her as she is in each moment. And, she's thriving. The vet theorized she might have previously been in a hoarding situation, since she seemed so under socialized and terrified.
Progressively, over the first six months she learned to play (she had no clue in the beginning); officially claimed her princess bed; allowed me to pet her regularly - out in the open!; slept on the sofa she used to hide under; greeted Mark with a sweet peep each morning, when he fed her; left her "safe" room to explore; slept in a sunbeam on the guest bed; allowed me to pick her up daily, resting her head on my shoulder and purring, as I stroked her; slept - overnight - on the master bed; and the morning of November 27th, I found her sleeping on top of me! I marked it as a red letter day in my calendar. She's since graduated to hanging out in the living room every other night with her people. Her play repertoire is ever expanding, I'm allowed to kiss her on the head, and she just popped up onto my desk as I write this. Gracie has even acquired the nickname "Peeper," which she often responds to, with a plaintive squeak, rather than a traditional meow.
Edwin and Clarence together, as they so often were
We still need to keep her separate from our other remaining cat, Edwin, whose litter mate and best buddy, Clarence, contracted abdominal cancer, and required euthanization in January. As if having Gracie in the house weren't stressful enough for Edwin, he was left behind, and deep in mourning for months this past winter. At any remote opportunity, he turbo charges toward Gracie in attack mode. Since she's on the other side of the glass door (by design), he careens to a hard stop. On the rare occasions he sneaks through, fur flies, and for those moments, his grief is abated, but Gracie is terrorized.
I'll admit, I originally wrote a version of this piece about six months ago. My hoped, though, was to publish a winning tale of how well our cats now got along through the power of love. So far, I've failed on that front. I think, in part, because that's not the lesson for me.
Why, then, the long diatribe about my cats? Because I found the spiritual wisdom about how best to relate to Gracie invaluable. Meeting all beings where they are, and loving them, as they are, even when they don't meet my expectations... despite not wanting the same things for themselves as I may want for them... when it appears nothing will ever change... this kind of love and acceptance provides fertile ground for thriving (apparently, Simon Sinek agrees - watch the video). Because, with our love, Gracie is thriving and Edwin is emerging from his grief and fear, little by little.
Boundaries matter, of course. Neither Gracie nor Edwin is given free rein to do whatever (s)he wants. Every other night, each takes a turn sleeping in "the big bed" or spending the evening hanging in the living room with their people. Even though Gracie hates getting her ears cleaned, we do it anyway. While Edwin would like to eat Gracie, we don't grant him access. Boundaries let all beings know what's okay and what's not okay. I don't stop loving them when they cross the line. I do let them know when they've leapt over it.
This practice also applies to my relationship with myself. It means meeting and accepting who I am in the moment, even when I don't meet my own expectations. This is NOT an easy mission. Because, while love may be boundless, each relationship must have boundaries. When I step out of integrity with myself, my boundary work is to recognize and take ownership of my stumble between me and me. If I cross another's established boundary, out of my fear or disregard, I am, again, out of integrity with myself. In that case, it's for me to own my part with the person I'm in relationship with. Likewise, if someone crosses my boundary - breaks a contract - it is for me to attend to my boundary. As such, I name it again, and express my anger, sadness, and/or fear about that line getting crossed. It's incredibly vulnerable.
Like living with Gracie and Edwin, this kind of loving and boundary work is an on-going project. I wonder, if you knew that loving yourself - as you are right this moment - allowed you to thrive, would you practice? If you witness others in your life blooming, in part, because you are willing to meet and accept them as they are now - not who you hope they'll be some day - might you shed a few of those judgments and expectations? And, if you realized that boundaries are a cornerstone of loving, could you gather up the courage to maintain yours, even when it feels scary and uncomfortable? Might you be willing to walk this path alongside me, as we walk each other home?
With love,
Joanne Lutz