Almost a year ago now, my family decided to get a cat. It had been years since we’d had a pet, but as my siblings and I are all young adults at varying stages of moving out, it was a good time for my parents to invest in a permanent companion. Through social media and the local animal shelter’s website, we found one or two kittens to consider adopting.
Once my parents got to the shelter, though, those plans quickly changed. While they briefly interacted with the grey-haired litter they went there to meet, another little orange cat distracted them. I wasn’t there, but as my parents tell it, he would shove his way in front of the other kittens to get my parents’ full attention, already intent on coming home with them.
Evidently, he was pretty persuasive. My mom likes to say that “we didn’t choose him; he chose us.” The rest is history.
At that time, I was going through a rough period with my health. Initially, it seemed like I was doing well. My IBD treatment was working great, but simultaneously, my liver enzymes went out of control. Eventually, I had to stop the medication that had worked so well - which led to my health deteriorating for several months, along with my emotional state.
That’s where our little lion man comes in (quickly dubbed Mumford - yes, an homage to the band Mumford & Sons). Whether he was cuddling with me when flares kept me home from work, or sitting outside the bathroom door and meowing at me in concern when I emerged, he was a constant presence and comfort during this time.
More recently, as my health has mostly stabilized, he has been helpful in other ways. I’ve learned a lot from him. He’s good at regulating himself, in that self-sufficient way cats have. He knows exactly when he needs to rest (even if that means crawling under someone’s bed for peace and quiet, although he prefers being around people), when to eat, when to burn off some energy. All the things I am the worst at.
Yet there is still plenty for his caretakers to do. And in training myself to watch his cues and predict his needs, I am learning to better care for myself, too. In my head, I am constantly asking, “Does he need more water? Is he getting too many treats? Is he waiting for someone to play with him?” Somehow, this has conditioned me to monitor my own needs more closely. When I’m in a mental funk, I notice myself wondering, “Do I need to get out of the house, or talk to someone? How have my eating habits been this week? Would I feel better if I got some exercise?” And just as Mumford seems out of sorts when his routine is interrupted on the weekends, I am learning to prioritize my own consistent schedule. And guess what? It actually helps.
That might be what I'll miss the most when I move into a dorm this fall. I know it’s going to be a major transition, and I could use his little reminders of these lessons. But I’m so grateful for this year with him, and this unexpected opportunity to look more closely at my self-care skills.
Feline Lessons in IBD Self-Care