1. Oh, kitty...
To put things into context: I live in a duplex, and the space separating one entrance from the other is a sort of courtyard. In that courtyard lives a little dog who belongs to my landlord, as well as two adult cats that are “wild” in the sense that they don’t live inside the house, though they’re fed and sometimes allow themselves to be petted.
Whenever I can, when I get back from university, I give them a piece of sausage or ham. I offer them food, a gentle touch, and that’s usually as far as our interaction goes.
Well, it turns out one of the cats had kittens. Some of them died, and others are out in the woods... But yesterday, one of those kittens came up to me to eat. At first, I was the one insisting; feeding it by hand because it didn’t dare jump for the food or grab it with its paws, and the other cats would snatch it away. But soon enough, the little kitten grew confident and ran into my house. It explored without fear, demanding food and allowing itself to be cuddled.
I can openly say that it melted my heart, and I succumbed to its charm.
I recorded everything and shared it with my family. Some of them suggested, and others assumed, that I wanted to adopt it. I didn’t stop to think about it, but a longing began to grow inside me: Do I want to have a pet?
Immediately, I wanted to brush the thought aside. I don’t have my own money to buy the basics: food, a litter box, a bed... And even if my family helped me with those expenses (they also have cats), I wouldn’t have the means to take it to the vet in case of an emergency. I study every morning and, with luck, will soon start working from Friday to Sunday. The cat would be alone when I’m not home…
I don’t think I can have a cat. But if I somehow made it work, if I managed to get the tools and stability needed to keep it healthy and happy, would it be right to have a pet either way? Or would it be a selfish act born out of a lack?
Don’t get me wrong, dear reader, if you have pets. This isn’t a personal critique of pet owners; I’ve had pets too, and my family still does. But that doesn’t mean the subject doesn’t trouble me.
Someone might argue, and that someone would be me, that these doubts don’t arise only from the fear of being unable to care for this pet, but also from the fear of losing it, as I lost my beloved and late Bolita, my best dog. And while that may be part of it, I don’t think it’s the only reason. There’s also a sincere feeling that’s awakened in me: the desire to care for and offer companionship. If you’ve been reading this blog for long enough (which I doubt), you already know what I did next: try to break down my underlying motivations. So let's get into it.
Alright, I’ll admit that this small and defenseless creature has stirred in me a yearning to protect and keep it safe. The cat would give me companionship, and generally, all the emotional benefits a cat can offer. I saw a sea of possibilities. This, if you’re familiar with different levels of reality and behavior, relates to level one: the cat as a means to my end. Which end? Perhaps my human need to belong and feel significant. The role of “caretaker” or “protector” of the pet gives me a clear place or purpose.
But beyond that, I wouldn’t feel content simply fulfilling the role of food provider and guardian. I want to form a bond, an understanding between this animal and me. To listen to its needs, let it know my boundaries, and coexist in a way that benefits us both.
This belongs to “level two”: I don’t seek to dominate it, but to collaborate and respect it. However, how can I move to “level three”? To the abandonment of the will to possess or to seek personal gain?
This act of taking the kitten from its familiar environment, how does it align with my purpose of pursuing goodness, truth, and justice? I feel that, in a way, I’d be stealing its freedom, since I wouldn’t dare let it roam the streets for fear it might get hurt.
And leaving the door open while still being its source of food also feels like a way of manipulating its nature to suit my own needs. Would its life really be better just because of the food and comforts I could offer by keeping it cautive?
Animals, acting on instinct, fulfill their purpose. But by bringing it into my home, I would inevitably be altering its own.
I think the simplest answer would be to keep doing what I already do: feed it, offer it some affection, but without making it “mine”; trying to build a relationship based on that freedom.
Still, I feel like something about all this doesn’t quite fit… or maybe I just don’t want it to fit, so I can, perhaps, satisfy that selfish need I mentioned before.
Only time will tell. I’ll keep writing about it.