On GiGi and the Walk Home

More than a year ago, I started writing a sort of “day in the life” log about my experience here. I think back to my emotional state then and I remember feeling raw, exposed, and opened up to the world. Much of that is still true; I often feel raw—riding roller coasters of confidence and sadness, confusion and patterned responses, pure joy and complete loneliness. The richness hasn’t faded, though I notice it seems to move in and out of intensity. My faith has certainly been tested since I arrived, after the momentum that plunked me down in this new life slowed somewhat. But each time I pass through a moment of uncertainty (which can last minutes or days), it seems what’s left behind is a deep inner root. I picture it green and thick like a tough, climbing tree vine, with silver wispy bits. It has a momentum of its own and seems to be eclipsing whatever I once was.

But in the minutiae of my daily life now? Hmm…well, for one thing, there’s my cat. I usually wake up to warm heaviness at my feet and hear a groan, an annoyed growly meow from GiGi as her sleepy face pops up from the bed. Especially when it’s cold, she tries to stay in the warm nook of my bended knee, or begrudgingly walks up to my face to peer down into my cocoon, under the covers. On very cold nights, she charges right in and makes herself comfy under the four plus blankets, either unaffected by the lack of oxygen down there, or rather enjoying it. She meows each morning right in my face so that I’ll feed her.

And she meows a lot! It’s not just talking, it’s a yearning, attention-demanding whine. It is fairly constant, regardless of whether I’ve fed her, watered her, loved her, stroked her, talked to her…or yelled at her. She has been “my” cat for under a year, but I find myself identifying with her traits, in the way we humans love to anthropomorphize our pets. So, although she had 2 previous owners and a personality before I moved in, I still do it…

I guess it’s because I know what it means to be emotionally demanding, to talk too much, to enjoy a marathon cuddle session every night, while still being skiddish and egg-shelly when new people come around, wanting to be petted but too scared to stay still long enough for it. I can empathize with her in the winter, too, because I really hate the wet cold and feel indignant and petulant when I feel I’m not cared for. And I can understand her abandonment issues, taken from her mother at a young age only to lose her first human parent while still young. So, the worst thing is when I realize I have neglected her and her meows, which I do without noticing sometimes. I might be home for 10 minutes before I’ve stopped to pet her or even acknowledge her directly. And on a couple occasions, I just flipped out and yelled at her, after trying everything to attend to the incessant meows. I feel like I fail us both when that happens—her, because she’s just a sweet creature and I’m her only source of human support. And myself, because now I can identify her emotional needs as symbolic of my own (or anybody’s), and have not only neglected those innocent desires, but have actually invalidated them by yelling! Uggh.

So, this is what happens when you move to the middle of the woods with no TV or internet and spotty phone reception! You suddenly step into a hall of mirrors, where everything becomes a lesson, a reflection. Everywhere you look…guess who you see?? Yep! It can be fun when your mood is inclined to vanity and ego-stroking and your perception is positive. “Wow, Stephanie, look at that shining example of a human being you are!” It’s less fun when your ugly blemishes of a personality surface. Ick! But in community, there is no use turning away: there’s always another mirror behind you, whether it’s your cat, or your co-worker, or some other unsparing soul, meeting you with authenticity.

I have never seen that movie Castaway with Tom Hanks, but I know that he develops a relationship with a soccer ball, which makes total sense to me. I believe humans deeply need relationship; we need to understand ourselves and our world by understanding the way we interact intimately with it. So, it’s possible to take anything…any thing that you relate to (cat, soccer ball, spouse, job, food, etc)…and see who you are, see what the world that you have created looks like. Or as one of the book titles by Cheri Huber puts it, “How you do anything is how you do everything.” So, if we’re willing to look, the information is all around us, sometimes glaringly so. The trick is to keep our eyes open. (*Huber has also said, "Live to be in the present. Safety, security, knowing and being right are all synonyms for death." Ka-pow!)

Wait! But this is not minutiae...this is sweeping philosophical monologue that constantly forms in my brain. Which, to be fair, has always been a huge feature of my life. But anyway, back to telling you about my cat…Lady Miss GiGi—as I like to call her when she’s being especially queenish—is a wonderful companion. She lazes around with me on the occasions when I spend time at home; she makes my walk home brighter when she greets me at the top of my hill when I arrive; she meows at me from on top of my windshield when I’m in the car making phone calls in the winter. She’s a true lady, but she can also hold her own—she’ll hiss and swipe at the cat door when raccoons or skunks try to peep their heads inside, and her slightly torn ears attest to more than one run-in with outdoor critters. And just last week, I saw her nonchalantly jump 3 feet in the air to catch a bird in one swipe, crunching its entire body between her growling teeth as she devoured it in front of me (until I couldn’t watch anymore that is). She’s a beauty and I’m so thankful to be sharing this place with her. (And by the way, I haven’t really yelled at her anymore, though I think it’s the cold weather she really meows at, so next winter will be a further practice for me…)

And now…I’ll leave you with a mini-video of my walk home, with GiGi squeaking along beside me.