Maria and I spent the afternoon at home. In mid-day, I went out for my daily afternoon meeting with Zip. He wasn’t waiting for me as usual. I looked around and saw a small black dot way out in the marsh, on the edge of our swamp. This is one of Zip’s favorite exploration sites, perhaps because so many creatures and flowers grow in those weeds. He was transfixed by something, and I decided to leave him alone.
I came out once or twice for chores and getting into the car (we went out to buy things for our dinner guests tonight). He sat out there—even in the slight rain that came—for an hour or so, never moving.
He was in the same spot where I last saw him. He didn’t catch or go after anything; he was just fascinated by the sound of the nearby stream and the secret and hidden world of the marsh. It didn’t seem he was hunting.
Later, when I went out again, he was in his favorite daylight spot, the wicker chair on the porch. He was sprawling in his padded blanket—Maria’s animals are lucky—so I came over.
Then I did a strange thing for myself. I regret it in some ways. I somewhat tenderly tucked the blanket around him, my friend arousing my paternal and nurturing streak. Zip fell right asleep, and I felt a little silly. The zip was not cold; this need was my projection. It brought me back.
Zip is savvy and demanding. He can certainly care for himself and has a half dozen warm and sheltered places to go.
Soon, he would be gone for the night. He looked at me. I can’t say what his feelings were, but he looked grateful for the blanket. Or maybe that was a projection. The afternoon had tired him; he wanted to rest.
There was a wind, but it was not cold. He doesn’t seem to notice if it is; he never does. Some people make that assumption about him and their animals.
I went back to check on him a few minutes ago, and he was gone. I won’t find out where he went, but he has several safe and warm places to go.
But he had a great afternoon; he loves staring at the march. Our relationship has opened up some buried things in me.
I am touched that he trusts me to pick him up, stroke his neck and back, and even wrap a blanket around him, as I used to do for my daughter when she was young. I loved caring for her that way, even though she didn’t need it or want it.
Zip has lived outdoors all his life and now as a barn cat. I want to be careful not to see him as a furbaby, as many people see animals these days or as needed and hapless as others do. I let him live his natural life with pride and watched over him as Maria did. Wrapping that blanket around him was a reflex, an old emotion stirred up. It’s not something I want to do regularly; it’s not a path I wish to take with an animal like Zip.
He did seem to like it.
It isn’t the relationship I want with him.
My animal hero is Jack London, an author. My favorite animal book is London’s The Call Of The Wild, the story of Buck, a loyal dog who avenged his human’s murder and spent the rest of his life in the wild hunting and living the life of a dog, something very few dogs or pet cats get to do. London inspires my writing about animals we sometimes call pets. I believe Call Of The Wild is the best book ever written about dogs.
My border collie Rose reminded me of Buck, inspired by a dog London met in the Yukon. Rose wanted nothing more than to be outside and work but was always watching me and ready to jump in when I needed help. I did, often.
She was a loyal dog like Buck, but never a pet or a dog people ooohaed and aaahed over. She would growl at people who talked baby talk and wanted to cuddle.
She never once slept on my bed or even in my bedroom. I never did know where she slept. She did not need to be petted or stroked. But she saved my life at least half a dozen times and kept coyotes away from the lambs at the risk of her own life. She always reminded me of Buck. When she was sick and dying, shivering, I would put some blankets out for her and find her wrapped in them in the morning.
I miss her still.
In a way, Zip reminds me of Buck. He’s very different but also similar.
He is loyal and connected to me, but he cherishes his independence and life as a free barn cat. What he needs from me much more than a blanket is the right to live his life as a proud and independent animal, not as a helpless and dependent creature. (Imagine if the animal rights people were around them.)
I’ll do the same for Zip, but I won’t wrap a blanket around him again; that’s not about love but about my own needs. Out there in the marsh, I know that Zip was answering the call of the wild and also managing to connect to the humans and animals he lives around. He is a very loyal cat.
I don’t think of him as a child; that seems extreme to me, but he did bring out the father and protector in me, even for a few minutes. I’m loyal also.
That feeling never wholly dies. When Emma was young, in the winter, I always made it my task to ensure she had enough blankets, even in the summer.
That explains a little of what’s happening with Zip; sometimes, he’s just a kitten who trusts me. That feels nice, but it’s not the whole truth.
He had the perfect Zip afternoon, and it felt good. I was proud to give Rose that opportunity, and I’m pleased to offer it to Zip.
