Lessons From A Cat

Pets are becoming increasingly common in Canadian households (about 68 per cent of homes have either a cat or a dog), often replacing a human cohabitant. Clearly, former reasons for not having a pet – the cost, the cleaning, the allergies, the responsibility while away – are yielding to the reasons for having a pet. These could include their value as companions, their utilitarian value (mice-catchers, guard dogs, seeing-eye dogs, etc.), and their financial value (as purebred breeders or show animals).

But as the benefits of having a human cohabitant normally exceeds those extolled for having a pet, there must be more to it. Perhaps it’s because where human relationships are complicated, establishing a loving reciprocal relationship with a pet is simple, or, at least, simpler. Feed it, water it, help it with its hygiene and medical issues, take it for walks, give it a warm mat at night and frequent bouts of attention (more depending on the species), and you will be rewarded by cheerful dispositions and ready affection.

At the core of a pet’s joie-de-vivre appears to be their self-acceptance. They are happy with who they are, and quite unconflicted about their role. A cat is a cat, a dog is a dog, and remain unflinchingly so no matter how much we shamelessly stereotype their behaviour.

“Yes, we are compulsive groomers and sleepers,” yawns the cat, and, “Yes, I’ll be either drooling or bringing you my leash,” wags the dog. There’s nothing else they would rather be or feel they should be doing. Joining the rat race would be antithetical to who they are. They’re not rats.

A pet’s uncomplicated disposition precludes the usual psychological barriers to happiness. Post chow, it’s all just a matter of leaping headlong into the adventure. When there are birds or balls to chase, lakes to swim, new spring grass to chew, fireplaces to warm up beside and loving massages to stretch into, what exactly is there not to like? Our pets guilelessly embody santosha (the Sanskrit word for the acceptance of oneself and one’s environment or circumstances as they are), a state of being that takes their humans years of yogic practice to attain.

Optimizing their conditions is an enviable talent of our feline and canine companions. Spend a day with them and observe their delight with family gatherings, an open window in a moving car, the mystery of a fluttering sound or an unknown scent. Let them lead you to places that nurture; where the water is freshest, the views the most catching, the light and warmth the most natural, the nook in the kitchen the most congenial.

And when life throws them a curveball, your pet meets setbacks with a stoicism that is Ghandi-esque in quality. Life’s trials, for an animal, are meant to be borne heroically. They will endure hunger, thirst and discomfort unblinkingly with a patience that gives us human sufferers of LFT (low frustration tolerance) pause. Their tendency to seek out quiet places, to retreat, and either heal themselves through rest or quietly accept “que sera, sera” makes you want to rethink what truly constitutes “frustration” and situations that rile.

And, lest we forget, our pets make known that a happy animal is a loving animal. That their gilded life is inextricably tied to the human in the centre of it. An animal knows its feeder, its rescuer from the rain, its warm-blooded companion and protector at night, its patient decipherer of animal-speak.

And it is inclined to become singularly attached to that person, loving them without the usual list of conditions other than expecting they will be a reliable source of food and kindness. We are never left wondering “where the relationship is at” with our pets. It’s good, it’s 100 percent, and, given that the animal is also quick to forgive, it’s hallowed as well.

In caring for cats over the years, I have become ever more mindful of the dictum “time spent with a cat is never wasted” due to the wisdom and lessons they impart. Go ahead and uncomplicate your life. Befriend a cat. Love your dog.

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