The Gift of Lili

April 28, 2020

I grew up with cats but was never especially attached to them.  And I used to be terrified of dogs, even before my sister was attacked by one who bit off the tip of her nose.  (That was decades ago and she’s fine now, BTW).  But that’s a story for another day.

In my mid-20’s, all that changed.  It started with Lili.  At the time, I was a member of a writer’s group and went to a friend’s apartment for a writing session.  My friend, Judi, had just rescued several abandoned kittens.  One of the kittens, a tiny brown and black tabby, attached herself to me.  As I wrote (about her, of course, since I couldn’t concentrate on anything else), she batted my pen and leaped in and out of my lap.  A few days later, Judi called and asked if I wanted to adopt her.  My roommates needed some convincing, but the landlord agreed and I persevered.  The rest is history.

Lili was wild.  She would follow me around all day, snuggle with me, and then jump on my face while I slept.  She would climb up the clothes in my closet in order to get to the top shelf where my sweaters were stored, and then sleep inside them.  She would run along the tops of doors.  She would climb up the tree in my yard, three stories high, and then cry all night because she was afraid to come down.  She befriended a mangy, light-orange stray cat in the neighborhood everyone called “Little,” and she protected him from the mean cats in the neighborhood.

Lili knew me in a way nobody else did.  She needed me.  She was quirky, like me.  She considered every day a new adventure.  Her eyes were kind.  And she loved me unconditionally.

Now, many years later, I have a human family and a constellation of pets.  There’s Allie, a small, shy, gray tabby with white paws, fur soft as a lamb, and a random aggressive streak.  There’s Jackie, a super-friendly, long-haired orange cat with extra front digits, who loves to be held like a baby.  And there’s Max, a mixed-breed rescue dog who looks like a tall Beagle, and is sweet as honey if he knows you, but not-so-sweet at first introduction.  The three of them have internal dynamics as complex as a human family: they snuggle with each other, ignore each other, chase each other, and fight over resources, especially human attention.  Caring for them requires early morning awakenings, hard work, inordinate amounts of patience, and financial investment.

Much has been written about how animals enrich our lives, but COVID-19 has had a way of reinforcing the things we already know: Don’t take what you have for granted.  We need each other to survive.   Relationships with animals can be a balm for the anxious soul.

Pets don’t have to be large, expensive, or even interactive.  Fish are mesmerizing and soothing to watch.  Gerbils and hamsters are goofballs.  There are millions of homeless cats and dogs who are waiting for adoption at shelters.  Since the COVID-19 crisis began, there is also a greater need for fostering animals through humane societies.  Even stuffed animals can be calming, especially if they are from childhood or have special meaning.

It’s understandable that not everyone is an animal person.  But if you don’t respond to animals, it’s possible that plants could serve a similar purpose.  They’re alive and elegant, and they need you in order to thrive.

When Lili died in 2008, I thought I would never love another animal in the same way.  I was both right and wrong.  She changed me, and she changed my relationships with animals forever.  I miss her.  But having Allie, Jackie, and Max while quarantined at home has been an enormous comfort.  One look at Max’s freckled nose and suddenly everything feels right.

Learn more about adopting or fostering animals.

This blog post originally appeared on the Carthage College website. It has been republished with permission.