Say hello to Cali, for “calico” as my wife spells the name, or Kali, for well, Kali, as I spell it.
More than just an animal
Kali is one of five cats that a neighbor who lived in a nearby singlewide claimed as his own for the last few years. All but one of these cats were left to find shelter outside on their own for 12 months of the year, although the neighbor claimed to be feeding them. (You wouldn’t know it from how crazed they got if we put out some food as well.) A week ago it was 13 below, so you know they had a rough time of it. About three months ago the neighbor moved away. Another neighbor and I rounded up three of the remaining cats and took them to the “owner’s” new location. A fourth cat is still running around wild outdoors and sometimes puts in an appearance. But my wife had been giving the fifth cat a little bit of food every once in a while and even letting her into her studio. Her landlady had already named the animal “Kali,” and so that stuck. When the residents of the singlewide took off, my wife adopted Kali with their, um, blessing.
For weeks and weeks, ever since we got her really, Kali has had the most awful sores on the back of her neck and top of her head. Really nasty scabby stuff, and our vet was quite perplexed. We gave her all kinds of treatments, but no one could figure out what was wrong. For three months now Kali has been spending the nights inside my wife’s studio and getting regular food plus lots of attention. And guess what? The scabs have finally started to disappear!
This morning my sweetie came back after starting her morning fire in the studio and reported that she realized that Kali’s sores had to have been caused by stress. Now, however, weeks and weeks of brushing and holding, hours of lap-sitting, and a warm place to sleep have begun to work their magic. The cat even sits still now, and she never would, before. This is lesson enough, but it’s not the main point. Riffing off the story of the cat, the deeper insight was how long it takes to heal emotional wounds…
You’d be right to think that this has application far beyond the story of a single calico cat in Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. When she told me what she’d finally understood, she wasn’t really talking about Kali anyway. Well, maybe she was, but I sensed an opening as big as all Creation.
This is what it’s all about. If I can see it, anyone can.
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{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
I agree that Kali was stressed out. I am amazed that the cats survived outdoors year around. Coyotes consider cats delectable hor derves. Imagine the adventures she had!
Applying her example of stress to humans is perhaps a stretch. However, if a bum were given weeks and weeks of brushing and holding, hours of lap-sitting, and a warm place to sleep, it would probably work magic. The bum would probably even sit still and clean himself (herself)!
I believe you’re right about the bum.
The real point of this one, though, is that it takes a lot longer to heal than most people realize. For some of us, just finding out who we really are takes decades. And speaking as someone who ripped himself and his wife away from friends and home of 25 years to land up in el Norte with no income and a stomach full of some of the most awful goddamn terror I’ve ever experienced, I want to go on the record as saying that even the seven years I’ve been here aren’t enough. Gettin’ there, but not enough.
It do take time…
It never occurred to me to doubt that much TLC over an extended period is required to heal emotional wounds (ask anyone who has fostered children).
An aside … how has Hobbes responded to Cali/Kali?
Hobbes the Wonder Cata hasn’t seen Kali. She lives at the studio next door.
Are you SURE Hobbs doesn’t know about Kali? He has a sense of smell doesn’t he? I’ll bet he is just playing it cool, taking one day at a time, and considering his options. At least he isn’t glaring at you two in a jealous snit.
Our first cat wouldn’t look at me for six months when we brought in a kitten to keep her company.
“Take her back!”
I am always amazed at the sensitivity and intuitiveness (is that a word?) of cats and other critters.
Hobbes is old and fat, Señor Buenopornada, I call him. Either that, or The Little Bastard. I don’t think he could smell an open can of tuna fish if you shoved it under his belly.