It deeply resonated with me what you remarked about compassion leading to further analysis & understanding.
I mostly care for wild cats, because they're abundant and I have an eerie kinship with them. Perhaps I've been recently feline. The thing about feral cats is that they're deeply unfriendly and unlikable creatures by any stretch of imagination. They're untrusting (and untrustworthy). Unlike feral dogs who usually get along well, cats don't even like cats outside of their pack, and usually not even the ones in their pack. They are loud, obnoxious, argumentative.
They don't even know proper respect or have any sense of pragmatism to their pride - and trust me, they're intelligent enough to make this distinction (some of them do). Most of the cats I feed would rather starve to death than acknowledge my work for them, let alone let me pet them or their infants.
One of the cats I've fed for the longest (for over 10 years), a night-clad queen of a most hateful breed, turns violent at the sight of my extending my hand to her. For over ten years she's waited outside my window, telling me to "Put the food down and walk away" and I've obliged dutifully.
Far too many times the mothers laid kittens in troublesome places where they would get hurt. I've tried to show them different locations, I've tried to move the kittens to my house a few times, and all but one time the mothers picked their kittens one by one, taking them back where they thought they would be safer.
Then, of course, as is usual in an urban area, the kittens would get lost. The queens would come back to my window asking me "Did you take them?" and I'd say no, and they'd keep wailing through the streets for *weeks* looking for their lost kitten. Weeks. Hearing a queen wail for her kittens for weeks do things to one's psyche.
If only they'd trust me (and the cats that I keep in the house), those kittens would live. And yet, next time around, the same mother keeps her kittens away from me, and loses them again, wailing in the streets *again*.
Except for one time, when the mother was pissed that I took her kittens to a garage (which she had easy access to). She abandoned those kittens, and I desperately tried to feed them with a feeding tube before they perished in my arms.
Too many times I questioned my sanity and why the hell was I doing all this for such despicable creatures.
And of course, there's the wonderful exceptions. One time, one of the girls that the pack usually harassed, *just* came into my house. She sniffed around and said "Alright, this will do." She gave me two most beautiful girls before going back to the mist of the night.
One of those two, aptly named "Hyppie" for short of "Hypocrates", took care of everyone around the house. Me, my mother, her sister, her mother. Whenever someone needed emotional support, she was there with her curious and compassionate eyes. I've yet to see a cat as emotionally intelligent as she was.
Much as she was in tune with other's emotions, she was likewise terrible at keeping hers in check. She would often run in front of cars, climb places she couldn't climb down; she would lose her mind and start scratching us the moment she saw a treat in our hands. So I always expected she'd die a stupid death - and she did, getting stuck in a windowpane one day we were out.
So far in my life I'd been extremely equanimous, even callous in the face of death. I've lost relatives, I've lost friends to suicide, and I just thought I was always ready and embraced this part of life. Seeing her bulging eyes, reminding me this compassionate creature's last moments were particularly painful as she suffocated, I wailed out bawling like I never did in my life.
For the first time in my life, I understood why some people kept their stuffed animals. Holding her corpse, that's what I wanted to do, just to stuff her and keep her compassionate eyes watching over me for the rest of my life. Forever.
But that is not the way of life. We've buried her in our backyard and planted bird feathers around her grave, as she was fond of playing with them. All created things are indeed impermanent.
It all leads back to impermanence. Meanwhile, we care for the ones around us, because honestly, there's nothing else to do.
Thanks so much for sharing. It seems that every species has its "way," but individuals in a species can vary a lot in personality. I see it among birds, even - some are bullies and some aren't. Some seem to have an intelligence that goes beyond the rest of their kind, and some are pretty dumb.
It deeply resonated with me what you remarked about compassion leading to further analysis & understanding.
I mostly care for wild cats, because they're abundant and I have an eerie kinship with them. Perhaps I've been recently feline. The thing about feral cats is that they're deeply unfriendly and unlikable creatures by any stretch of imagination. They're untrusting (and untrustworthy). Unlike feral dogs who usually get along well, cats don't even like cats outside of their pack, and usually not even the ones in their pack. They are loud, obnoxious, argumentative.
They don't even know proper respect or have any sense of pragmatism to their pride - and trust me, they're intelligent enough to make this distinction (some of them do). Most of the cats I feed would rather starve to death than acknowledge my work for them, let alone let me pet them or their infants.
One of the cats I've fed for the longest (for over 10 years), a night-clad queen of a most hateful breed, turns violent at the sight of my extending my hand to her. For over ten years she's waited outside my window, telling me to "Put the food down and walk away" and I've obliged dutifully.
Far too many times the mothers laid kittens in troublesome places where they would get hurt. I've tried to show them different locations, I've tried to move the kittens to my house a few times, and all but one time the mothers picked their kittens one by one, taking them back where they thought they would be safer.
Then, of course, as is usual in an urban area, the kittens would get lost. The queens would come back to my window asking me "Did you take them?" and I'd say no, and they'd keep wailing through the streets for *weeks* looking for their lost kitten. Weeks. Hearing a queen wail for her kittens for weeks do things to one's psyche.
If only they'd trust me (and the cats that I keep in the house), those kittens would live. And yet, next time around, the same mother keeps her kittens away from me, and loses them again, wailing in the streets *again*.
Except for one time, when the mother was pissed that I took her kittens to a garage (which she had easy access to). She abandoned those kittens, and I desperately tried to feed them with a feeding tube before they perished in my arms.
Too many times I questioned my sanity and why the hell was I doing all this for such despicable creatures.
And of course, there's the wonderful exceptions. One time, one of the girls that the pack usually harassed, *just* came into my house. She sniffed around and said "Alright, this will do." She gave me two most beautiful girls before going back to the mist of the night.
One of those two, aptly named "Hyppie" for short of "Hypocrates", took care of everyone around the house. Me, my mother, her sister, her mother. Whenever someone needed emotional support, she was there with her curious and compassionate eyes. I've yet to see a cat as emotionally intelligent as she was.
Much as she was in tune with other's emotions, she was likewise terrible at keeping hers in check. She would often run in front of cars, climb places she couldn't climb down; she would lose her mind and start scratching us the moment she saw a treat in our hands. So I always expected she'd die a stupid death - and she did, getting stuck in a windowpane one day we were out.
So far in my life I'd been extremely equanimous, even callous in the face of death. I've lost relatives, I've lost friends to suicide, and I just thought I was always ready and embraced this part of life. Seeing her bulging eyes, reminding me this compassionate creature's last moments were particularly painful as she suffocated, I wailed out bawling like I never did in my life.
For the first time in my life, I understood why some people kept their stuffed animals. Holding her corpse, that's what I wanted to do, just to stuff her and keep her compassionate eyes watching over me for the rest of my life. Forever.
But that is not the way of life. We've buried her in our backyard and planted bird feathers around her grave, as she was fond of playing with them. All created things are indeed impermanent.
It all leads back to impermanence. Meanwhile, we care for the ones around us, because honestly, there's nothing else to do.
Thanks so much for sharing. It seems that every species has its "way," but individuals in a species can vary a lot in personality. I see it among birds, even - some are bullies and some aren't. Some seem to have an intelligence that goes beyond the rest of their kind, and some are pretty dumb.