Give love without expectation

Last month marked an unusual anniversary. A year ago I picked up Glennie, a 6-year-old black-and-taupe striped cat. To feel whole, I need four heartbeats in my house and we’d been down to three — two human and one feline — for months, which felt uncomfortably quiet. As many people know, adding a cat to home with another cat is no small undertaking.

But find him I did, at a shelter in Fenton. While completing paperwork, the volunteer received a call from the shelter’s director, instructing her to close the shelter immediately per the governor’s COVID-19 instructions. I’m grateful the volunteer allowed me to finish the adoption, and I left with Glennie and that “meant to be” feeling.

My husband, Robert, and I made our back bedroom into a Glennie oasis with toys, soft options for snoozing and a chair next to a big window for optimum critter watching. We had long visits with Glennie every day to help him get used to the new room, new people and, of course, a new furry roommate.

A month into lockdown, Glennie still would not let us pet him, cuddling wasn’t even a consideration. Every day he kept his distance, taking refuge underneath the futon, and I realized we had adopted a kitty with a broken heart. Glennie lived with one family for years, then was unceremoniously dropped off at the animal shelter. I can’t imagine how abandoned, hurt and confused he felt, probably still feels.

So Robert and I were as consistent as we could be. At the same times each day, we fed and tried to play with him. We stayed in that small bedroom for hours, trying to convince him that we would always come back for him; that he could trust us.

By the August heat wave, Glennie was wandering the house, checking in on the other cat, but always returning to his bedroom for naps, bird observation and overnight sleeping. About once a week, Glennie would let Robert give him affection, but only for 10 minutes. Each time I tried to hold him, he pushed away, and each time my heart sank.

We pored over cat websites, called the shelter, talked to cat experts — nobody could render a guess as to why Glennie would not let us hold him. To me, though, there was one reason, and it was the aching heart he carried around.

So on Glennie’s oneyear anniversary, I decided to temporarily give up the dream of cuddling him. The only thing I can do is focus on my primary role of making him feel loved so he forgets being abandoned. And if giving him unrequited love is what he needs, then he will get that. Even though my lap may be empty, I can’t help but think what greater gift can we give to any soul, a cranky teenager or a lost kitty, than uninterrupted love without getting so much as a cuddle in return.