Animal presence

It hasn't even been a week since Boo died, but through his passing I've been doing sort of a "life review" of his presence in our lives and wanted to reflect on a few things about him and the impact animals can have on us. First, he found me, I didn't find him. Let's just make that clear. I was in a pound in Elmira, NY with a friend who was looking at a kitten when something kept poking me in the back of the head. I turned around and there was this huge, mangy gray furball whose eyes almost looked crossed to me, scrunched up on his side in this tiny little cage purring at me and trying to get my attention. I took him out of the cage and.... well, its obvious what happened next.

Boo was a people cat. He tolerated other cats and was very gentle to kittens. but, being very protective, hated anything else with four legs. I've seen him take the offense with a german shepard once and I won't even get into the flying duck feathers when a neighbor's ducks came to visit one day. (No one was injured, thank goodness) Anyway, he would sit and stare at you for hours, poke you (claws retracted, of course) until you noticed him and he would always lay within touching distance of a human being whenever possible.

In 2000, I took over managing an assisted living facility for a few years. At the same time, a personal life transition caused me to have to move into an apartment that would not accept animals. The solution was to take Boo to work with me. Little did I know that this was his calling as much as it was mine. In between lazy afternoons of sprawling across my paper strewn desk soaking up the sunbeams from my office window and playing desk hockey with my pens and pencils, Boo would spend hours wandering around this 110 bed facility, soothing and comforting some very frail souls.

One resident, in particular, who had been severely depressed, began bonding with Boo. I'd notice him and the cat spending hours together. He'd walk and Boo would stay just behind his heals like one would expect a dog to do. The gentleman would sit and play cards with his friends, and Boo would stay right by his side. Needless to say, the resident's spirits lifted and Boo's therapeutic side began to surface.

As months went by, Boo made many, many friends. He also gained many, many pounds (well, ounces anyway) from the generosity of the numerous residents who just wanted to give him one bite. Not healthy for him but apparently it was for them.

Then, we started noticing something. Boo seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing when one of his residents wasn't feeling well. He'd tend to seek them out and linger by the person's side or sit outside of the door until he or she was up and active again. Boo loved to sit and observe activities, and run from person to person rolling on his back expecting a belly rub.

There were residents who didn't like cats. Boo seemed to be okay with that, too. He would make an attempt, but a poke from a cane or rattling of a walker would tell him it was time to get out of that person's space and there he would stay, often worshiping them from afar.

Eventually, I was put into a regional position which meant leaving the facility and traveling all over the northeast and also the country doing training. Because of the relationships Boo had made by that time and my personal situation, he and I had a discussion and agreed that we both had work to do on behalf of these precious people we mutually loved taking care of, so he said he would stay there as a cat therapist while I travelled and trained.

My very close friend and nursing director had taken over my position so we were in close contact in between my visits to see Boo. She, not being a cat lover, was not one to "fluff" stories about the wonders of Boo, but she used to call and give me some very unusual scenarios.

In assisted living in New York State, with a special waiver, if a resident becomes ill and is dying, sometimes they can have hospice care and remain there, in what has become home, and die with dignity. Boo seemed to understand this, because he began a habit of seeking out residents who were terminally ill or near death and would not leave their sides. One, in particular, actually hated cats, but my friend, the new Executive Director, reported that everytime the door opened he would rush into the room and hide under the bed. Eventually, the family said to just let him stay, which he did until she passed. They say he never went back to that room again.

That is just one of many stories.

Boo came back to me a few years later when I had taken a job with a college and stopped travelling, and the resident who he had bonded with years earlier became ill and could no longer have a cat with him. The facility was undergoing some changes and it was a good time to bring my boy back home.

You may ask what this story has to do with mindfulness and "now" presence. Well, maybe I'm pushing the envelope a little, but I want to use him as a good example of what is often right under our noses but that we often miss because our minds are always spinning over things we have no control over.

I think this kind of thing happens more often with animals than people realize, only because people just aren't paying attention. I believe that animals live in the moment. They don't care about how short changed they think they were when they were puppies or kittens, how much money they think they should have or if they are going to be able to buy a new car next year. All they think about is the present. And, with that, I think comes some knowing that many of us are oblivious to. They feel, sense, listen. They accept and practice gratitude for what they have. They don't complain or feel anger that another animal has more things then they do. They just are who they are.

Do you see where I'm going here? Maybe animals possess a sensitivity or intuition because they simply allow it to come through and aren't caught up in all the things which we do that keep us "mindless." Maybe, we too have some of that sensitivity and intuitiveness but will never know our full potential because our egos and illusions of what is important clouds our ability to find that within ourselves.

Boo left a legacy of unconditional love and the power of presence in our family and we learned so much from him. I aspire to be like Boo someday. Maybe you can too. Instead of remembering, worrying, playing old senarios over and over in your mind sometime, just watch one of your pets for a while. See where that takes you. Have a peaceful, present day and kiss your pet for me.