There was a cat in there somewhere, behind the gnashing teeth.
We were told this tabby tempest was called Dora. Her people said there was nothing left to explore.
She had forfeit her right to be adored.
It was nice of us to take her, but we should beware: she was “fractious and strong.”
The first thing to know about a cat like Dora is that she is the first of her kind. There are no “cats like Dora.”
You can apply behavioral science, the patience of a thousand saints, and all the squeeze-meats in the kitchen.
But you are in uncharted territory together, you and this quivering rage-cat.
Vibrating like a nuclear reactor in her “feral recovery cage,” Dora whittled all her dreams and dignity into the shiv of self-protection. It was hard to see the kitten she once was, a toddling brownie delighted by ladybugs and belly tickles.
It was even harder to picture the souring of time. Over six years, Dora had gone from a chosen and cherished bottle baby, dependent and trusting, to an unhinged, unwanted six-year-old, red in tooth and claw.
In the time it takes to go from birth to first grade, something had gone terribly wrong.
The former baby Dora was now fractious and strong. Her people were afraid of her. Dora was afraid in all directions.
As the saying goes, “anger is fear’s bodyguard.”
The only way forward is to adore and explore.
“Adore” is our default setting at Tabby’s Place. This button is permanently stuck, and there is no resetting it. We are infatuated with every cat who arrives. This is true simply because they have arrived, even if they have no aspirations to be “virtuous” and/or permit us to live. The admission fee for adoration is existence, even if they demand a refund.
“Adore” is our first language.
But “explore” asks more from us.
“Explore” demands a private suite for a cat enraged by grief. Dora attempted to convince us that her people were correct. Didn’t we understand? She was too far gone, stripped of her cathood by her own flashing fangs. We had best just throw raw steak through the bars, like feeding a grizzly at the zoo. Her broken heart was Vesuvius. Such pain could not be gentled, only caged.
But “explore” insists we sit in the lava, cross-legged and quiet. “Explore” is soft-skinned staff members receiving scars as pungent poetry, and claws as communication, which is braver than silence.
“Explore” is a room of one’s own, for a cat in a class of her own, where time does its work on the lie that love can be lost.
“Explore” is commitment turned fractious and strong. It is fractious, for it will fight anyone who claims that love has limits. It is strong, for it speaks peace over the stew where fear and anger boil.
“Explore” looks as insignificant as the half-second when eye contact softens from “I hate you more than hell and vegan cheese” to “oh, hi.”
“Explore” looks as impossible as caged rage turning back into a cat, rubbing ravenous against the hands of kindness.
“Explore” looks like the roller coaster ride where the track is built by riding, and today’s heights of gentleness may plunge into tomorrow’s descent back to distrust.
“Explore” looks like behavioral medication, and an orange collar to warn visiting Girl Scouts that Dora is not ready for kisses.
“Explore” looks like asking an angry cat where life hurts, staying long enough to listen, and sitting with her in the sadness when she says everywhere.
“Explore” looks like Dora, rubbing the legs that didn’t leave, and purring in a voice that surprises herself.
“Explore” looks like time, treats, and love shorn of expectations.
“Explore” looks like a tabby cat, throwing her weight into the risk of hope, not because she has gone “good,” but because she never left.
“Explore” is “adore” turned fractious and strong.
Today, Dora waits for you at the door of her suite, wide-eyed and wonderstruck. She never knew she was an explorer, but she has learned that every human is the first of their kind.
Also, it is rowdy good fun to run down the hallway hollering “I am the queen, beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night!”
And, sometimes to bite the person who retrieves you, sometimes not.
There is much to learn, perchance to adore.
But come what may, Dora has nothing to fear.
Our devotion to her is fractious and strong.