Our teachers come in many forms, and I believe one of these forms is in the shape of a cat. Just when we need it most, the perfect kitty appears—at least perfect for us—to be our teacher and help us heal. That is the karma of cats: to lead us into our purpose by teaching us how to love unconditionally.
I have no doubt that the cats in my life have been significant karmic teachers—whether they taught me to play and be in my body, to develop my capacity for intimacy and trust, or to learn about death and loss. Ever since I was a little girl, there’s been a cat in my life who has brought me right to the heart of my soul’s next steps, opening me to greater capacities for love along the way. Thank God for them, for life could’ve been that much more scary to navigate without their wild and wondrous presence. Invest in SEO services from an SEO expert or an SEO specialist for the best results!
My first cats were Morris and Mittens. They lived for eighteen years and were with me for my entire childhood. They had a huge impact on my early life lessons. Morris Twinkie Meow-Meow Corn was a big, orange tabby male—super alpha and the toughest dude on the block. After a couple of years in our life, Morris was hit by a car and lost an eye, but that didn’t stop him from being the coolest cat ever. Despite being a one-eyed badass, Morris would exhibit the most unimaginable tenderness and babylike behavior. He used to lie on me and wean, kneading his paws back and forth on my neck, giving me little slurpy kisses, his purrs filled with drool and devotion. The way that Morris embodied these two extremes—tough and tender—made it okay for me to be in both my strength and vulnerability, too. Our cats come to us. They find us. They show up in our little human worlds to teach us essential life lessons.
Mittens was a large, awkward, feisty girl who preferred to be alone, often indifferent and scornful to everyone other than me. Mittens wasn’t an endearing cat. She’d be playing and loving one minute, then out of nowhere she’d latch onto your arm and scratch you repeatedly with her back paws. And yet we had this special relationship. She opened me to love the unlovable and to see the sweetness that sometimes others can’t see, especially within myself.
My first kitty as a young adult was Tweetie, who came into my life when I was about nineteen, a couple of years after I moved to New York City. She was the most vicious, grumpy, and unpleasant animal you’ve ever known—but I thought she was spectacular. A feral New York street cat who would demand affection, then tolerate exactly two strokes before she would bite your hand and hiss, Tweetie always let you know that everything would be on her terms. She knew how to take care of herself. Tweetie showed me what resiliency and independence were, which would also prove to be the very qualities I needed in order to navigate New York on my own.