Cat Years

Penny has made it abundantly clear that she wishes to be an outdoor cat. The longing meows while perched on the window sill.  The dash for the door when I take out the garbage. I’m beginning to think that she is the one to greet me when I come home from a protracted absence not because of separation anxiety but rather because of the potential for escape.

With trepidation, I have acquiesced to this desire. We have a typical urban “backyard” i.e. a postage stamp patio surrounded by six foot walls. Certainly adequate to confine a dog (especially a tank like Bob), but not so much for a cat. Indeed, after a couple forays out back, Penny found her way to the top of, and eventually over, said walls. There follows several anxious hours while I try to convince myself that she’s perfectly capable of handling it. She’s chipped and spayed. She’s lived here more than a year now so she knows where home is. She can hold her own with Bob, so can most likely hold her own with whatever she meets out there. And she has her claws – I would not care to have my fingers amputated at the first knuckle, and suspect Penny feels the same.

Sure enough, she eventually finds her way back over the wall. Or, I was delighted to learn that she DOES recognize the back gate from the other side and meows for re-entry.

And it occurs to me; I have a teenager. Yes, there’s all that talk about one human year is equivalent to 7 dog years or 5 cat years or whatever. And that’s valid as far as physical aging is concerned. But psychologically and intellectually, dogs plateau as toddlers, and cats plateau as teenagers. Maybe that’s one difference between dog people and cat people. Some prefer the goofy childishness of a toddler dog.  Some prefer the challenges and rewards of a teenage cat. Standoffishness – the feline equivalent of the dreaded eye roll.  Which makes those moments when your cat deigns to acknowledge you that much sweeter. Letting Penny out gave me a glimpse of how parents feel when they hand the car keys to their 16-year-old, praying they raised them to make good decisions.

Reflecting on my own teenage years – I made some stupid decisions, yet managed to survive. And maybe that’s why cats seem to have nine lives. Testing one’s independence inevitably leads to some scary situations. With good guidance and God’s grace, teenagers (both human and feline) usually land on their feet.

Now that I think about it, I STILL make some stupid decisions. Hmm, maybe it’s not just cats who plateau as teenagers. Guess I’ll always be risking scary situations and stupid decisions. But given the alternative of longingly meowing at the windowsill, I’ll take it.

Good Lesson. Thanks Penny.