It is starting to rain heavily outside. The day is dreary and grey as it has been around the Lehigh Valley for far too many days this year. My cat, Mr. B., has just started cowering in the corner of the living room near the door — his “safe spot”.
He is fearful when it rains. I think he senses a drop in barometric pressure when a storm comes through. Yes, I know that cats’ hearing is better than humans so you may think he hears thunder before we do. It doesn’t even have to be a thunderstorm for him to respond this way.
I know rain is coming when he jumps down from his favorite chair and blanket and begins to s-l-o-w-l-y slink low to the ground towards the wall near the door . . . or sometimes under the table. He looks around warily, moving in slow motion. I calmly and quietly call his name and slowly move to pet him. But this gentle, affectionate lap cat will not look my way and focuses instead on moving to the safe space near the door or under the breakfast table. I pick him up in hopes of sitting him on my lap and giving him a calming pet or massage, but he squirms and wiggles free of my arms and settles himself into his chosen safe spot.
We came to be Mr. B’s “staff” (cats don’t have owners) a year ago in January 2019. He had been abandoned in November 2018 when his owners moved away. He spent 2 1/2 months outdoors in the deep winter of the Poconos. One evening when it was freezing rain, friends of ours heard scratching at the door to their deck. They found Mr. B. caked with ice and snow. Scruffy and hungry and scared, he reluctantly stepped inside the door. Our friends knew they could not keep him (they have 5 cats already) and tried all evening and the next day to find his owners. They gradually learned the story of his owners who had lived a mile away and of neighbors who left food outside but could not provide shelter.
My husband, Bill, and I had always had cats, but had just had our last elderly cat die. Bill could not face having another pet and loving and losing again . . . but when we found that Mr. B. would have to go to a shelter with unknown consequences, he agreed we would take Mr. B in. And so we have Mr. B. . . and we are definitely his staff.
It took only days to “tame” him back to being an indoor cat. He has never tried to get outside and seems to call to any neighborhood cat that comes in the yard — never hissing or spitting but giving a quiet call that, if I were to put words to it, would say, “Hey come on in. Let’s play!”
Mr. B would spend hours on my lap if I let him. He knows when it is feeding time but never begs for people food. He waits and calls to us at the bottom of the stairs to our bedroom when it gets to be 9 pm — a sign he wants to cuddle while we read in bed.
But his fear of storms is hard to see. I suppose I should be grateful that he has identified safe spaces to contain his fear. After all, as the rain moves out, he quickly resumes his usual demeanor.
It makes me wonder where are my safe spaces? I am usually gutsy and not easily intimidated, but these days I am feeling more anxiety and fear than I think I have felt in my life. I’m sure some of it is personally generated from my own recent and ongoing health challenges, and those of my family. But I think more of it is from the changes in our surrounding culture and the changing relationships with fellow citizens. Three years of this administration and I feel like nothing is predictable, and much is being unraveled that in the past was honored as foundational. Even the physical world — ferocity of storms and drought — is changing. And it is happening at such an unnerving pace .
I wonder where are my safe spaces? I want to be intentional and aware of where and with what and with whom I can feel safe in times when I need to retreat from this chaotic world and reclaim my roots. Aha . . . it is time to get out my meditation cushion and my journal and put away the computer for now and enter my safe space. And I’ll take Mr. B. with me . . .
Pilgrimages and Paths 