Golden retriever energy

I never liked cats.

I grew up in a dog family.

My dog was a flat coated retriever.

I was told I had golden retriever energy.

Every other birthday card would have a dog on it.

And I’d be in bits watching Marley and Me or Homeward Bound or Fox and the Hound.

But last year, a new flatmate moved in with a cat.

I didn’t think much of it.

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

White with black spots, it was a skittish little thing, old in her age.

It avoided me for weeks.

I went down to pet it and it zoomed off.

It started to annoy me.

The fur it left behind.

The lack of kindness towards me.

It would catch mice and play with them.

Snooze all day on the sofa.

And walk right past me.

Yes, I decided. I am indeed a dog person. Now I know why.

One day, its owner went away on a trip and I had to feed it.

Resentfully.

It started to pur at me.

And in a few days, rub its body against me.

But I saw the tricks it played.

The moment the food was out, so was I.

What sort of pet was this?

I felt used.

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A few months passed.

And I realised that I was carrying a silent grudge towards this creature.

It crossed my mind that I wasn’t being loving.

That my love was conditional upon receiving love in return.

And I wondered if I could I love this thing regardless.

So I tried softening to her presence.

Feeding her every now and then.

And just allowing her to be.

Weeks passed.

And one day, she allowed me to stroke her belly.

Hmm.

Cute.

Weeks passed.

And I sat down on the sofa next to her.

For once, she didn’t get up.

She just lay there in a curl.

And I felt this warmth towards her.

Weeks passed.

And my flatmate said “Look, she’s sitting with her back to you. That means she feels safe around you.”

I thought doing that was rude.

I guess I didn’t understand her language.

So the next time she brushed up against me, I felt a little joy.

And it tickled me the way she sat by the door — expecting me to open it for her — despite the cat flap below.

I began to hear ‘hello’ in her meow.

I was enjoying her company.

And then it dawned on me.

I’d been judging this cat for her lack of dogness.

She didn’t run up to me.

Fawn over me.

Play with me.

No, she was not a dog.

She was a cat.

But I wasn’t appreciating her catness.

All the little ways she was different.

Since then I’ve been wondering how many people and experiences I’ve judged for their lack of dogness instead of their catness.

Every sunset is different.

Every tree unique.

But through the lens of comparison, they disappoint.

Can I appreciate something for it’s isness?

I’m still a dog person.

But I’m learning to accept my catness.