Today, I saw an old feral tomcat. We named him Toby. We already have 2 cats in the house, one of which is brand new and we've finally found out that he's healthy and will be staying with my parents (much to the chagrin of my own incredibly grouchy cat). Toby has been coming around for years now. Mainly to grab a quick bite to eat from my darling family and partially because even when he's soaking wet we will still give his head a little scrub. He's a very sweet little guy, and it's become almost a family tradition to make sure he's fed and as happy as possible. We've all spoken before about what we can do for him, and the ideas of him being brought into the house, of finding him a place to go, bringing him to the ASPCA a town over. All of which have been shot down because my family, in all of their understanding glory, sees him for him. Yes, he is, for all intents and purposes, homeless. However, he is feral now. Just by getting to know him, we know that he would not be content to be constrained to four walls. He would feel trapped within a house instead of having the world at his little gray paws.
Today, on this rainy day, 2 days after Christmas, I went out in the morning and found Toby making his lanky way towards me with his damp, puffy face meowing with recognition. I immediately grabbed the bag of food and laid some out for him, pushing the food that was left in the rain to the soggy ground. He jumped right up, and trilling while he ate took a few scrubs on the head while he was stuffing his face. I walked him over to this cute little box my mum had put together to try to give him a place to stay on just such a day. He, however, had other plans. I gave him a second helping of food, gave him a final scrub, and he swaggered away towards the wooded area near the back. I have no idea where he plans to go, but I came to a very interesting realization...
I understand Toby. I understand how nice it is to have a warm cozy place to call our own. However, there is something to be said for absolute freedom. I get questioned frequently about my own life plans and goals and such. ("When are you going to get a boyfriend?"...."Don't you want to try to buy a house?"...."Why would you still want to live with roommates?").
I moved to western Mass for a guy. He was going to UMass Amherst and it was either continue a long distance thing between Cambridge and Amherst or take a leap of faith and just go for it. Being the crazy, impulsive person I am, I decided to jump right in. We lived together for roughly a year and a half before our lives completely imploded and I was on my own. I had a great career, I had some good friends and so I made the decision to stay in the area. I was never one to give up if I thought a situation was salvageable.
So here I was, completely on my own for the very first time. Before this, I had either still been living with my family or I has been living with a boyfriend. Now, although I had roommates, I was completely alone. This was unprecedented and exciting but it was also, terrifying. For years, I had always had a choice of whether I wanted to be alone. Now that choice was gone. I was alone.
This all happened at the end of January 2012. Now, four years later, as I watch Toby saunter away with a full belly and a freshly scrubbed head, I see myself in him. There is something about not answering to anyone that is truly delightful. When I make plans with friends, they have to check with their boyfriends/girlfriends/husbands/wives/children/parents. I answer to no one. I don't have to check with anyone other than myself. Others who work late, they think about all the people they are not able to see as much of. I think about the fact that no one is going to care if I leave work at 4:45 or if I leave at 6. When I come home, exhausted and tired and grouchy, I can sit on my couch in silence and instead of worrying about anything else, I can watch whatever my heart desires. I eat my dinner in bed sometimes, purely out of laziness.
Not to say I sometimes don't think about giving up some of those freedoms. Just a quick fleeting moment of thought that is immediately dismissed as I think, "Yea, but, I get to just worry about myself!" Is it selfish? Hell yes! However, for the first time in my life, I'm more worried about myself than anyone else. The rest of the people in my life are okay, and most of them are more than just okay. The people I love are happy. Now, I can worry about just living my life SOLELY for myself and working towards being the woman I've always wanted to be. So thank you, Toby. For reminding me that sometimes, it's okay to not worry about someone's feelings (I'm sure he really loves the little shelter you built him mom!) but sometimes you just have to (HAVE TO) do you. And sometimes, it's so beyond worth it...
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