Transforming trauma with a cat

Slash was dumped on a farm and spent a cold winter there. I chose him as my first SPCA foster cat because I didn’t want to get too attached. I wanted to end up fostering kittens eventually. So I moved my office into the spare room and created a cute little cat room. I had no idea at that time that he would be my first and last foster cat - and that I’d learn so much about what it takes to let trauma pass through.

Slash is male, aged about 12. He was so timid that I never thought he’d ever develop any kind of attachment to me, or me to him. He was called Slash because he has this Zoro type white slash across his mainly black face. I found that name quite harsh - almost setting him up to fail - so, we renamed him Goatee (cute white chin) Gary (name of his rescuer).

Goatee Gary spent the first five days under the bottom shelf of the bookcase, crammed into the corner, in the dark. He slept on the cold wooden floor and not the three-tiered fluffy, warm blankets I’d put there for him. He ate alone. For days I used trails of ham to get him to come out. After four days he slinked out, staying low to the ground. He’d work himself up to grab some ham from my thigh and then run back under the bookcase.

Goatee Gary’s nervous system was set on permanent extreme alert. This had become his norm and every aspect of his behaviour came from that place. Even when he was sleeping: I’d sneak a look in sometimes and see him snoozing, with both ears back. The slightest sound and he’d tense every muscle and cell in his body, ready to fight or flee.  Stress causes our nervous system to switch into fight or flight. Our heart rate increases. Our body produces extra cortisol and adrenalin - hormones that create extreme imbalances in our bodies if delivered for longer than their original design of short, sharp bursts for survival. If we live in even a moderate version of fight or flight, it can lead to disease.

One day I got a call from the SPCA to say that they found a heart condition on an x-ray. They didn’t think it was fair to put him up for adoption, unless I adopted him as his fosterer. It wasn’t an easy decision. I wanted to foster kittens and my partner was allergic to him. So I booked him in to be euthanised. On the day, I put him in his cage and packed up all his little toys. I’d just started spraying cat nip on this little yellow toy mouse and he loved it. It was soggy from him licking it and nuzzling it. I picked it up to put it in the cage with him. Up until that point I couldn’t look at Goatee Gary, but I caught the look on this face and broke down crying. I couldn’t do it. Goatee Gary - you’re stuck with me. I couldn’t bare to see all that progress dissolve in an instant. I was also totally in love with him.

Every day I would tell him how well he was doing and how amazing he was. I’d sit with him for hours. Gradually he would come out on his own and eat his cat biscuits in front of me, looking around all the time. His eating was frenzied as if it’s all he’d ever get. I was slow and quiet, matching his fearful energy with patient, loving energy.

One day, he walked out of the cat room and into the lounge. He nestled himself in the crook of my arm while I was lying on the couch. He looked away as if it was the most natural thing to be doing. Then my partner walked in from the bedroom (Goatee Gary hates moving legs, especially a man’s) and he bolted back to under the bookcase for the day.

The next day he tried again. This time he spent about an hour first slinking around the lounge, keeping low. He jumped up on my stomach and started head butting my face. Then came the V8 motor purring! This became his nightly routine. It was odd bonding as he shoved his head in my face.

I trust that we came into each other’s life at the perfect time. We lost our dog last year and I’m not ready to get another dog. I also know profound sadness and loss from other experiences of life. I know how trauma and grief can stick and harden inside your body. Being gentle can feel impossible because it means opening up and feeling what’s inside. Having a nervous system that can only scream is paralysing. We turn to all sorts of things to cover up. It takes something different to make a shift.

Goatee began to relax through trust over his surroundings. He was in a different physical space. Then he found warmth, soft things to lie on, sun to bask in so he could stretch out his body. His moments of deep relaxation grew.

Trauma sits within us until we can slowly trust and bring ourselves into a different shape. Many of the people who come through my studio are so incredibly brave. They go through the BeCalm Yourself 5-week series because a one-off doesn’t transform. They arrive with a past that they are ready to breathe with. We can’t change what has happened to us but we can change our relationship to life, from the inside out, one breath (or head-but!) at a time.

Goatee’s latest change is to sleep on the bed, on the very corner, not taking up too much space (yet). He doesn’t try to wake me up. Sometimes I wake up anyway to check on him and he’s sitting up staring at me. Safe. Settled. Grateful. Both of us.

This was the first time Goatee Gary came out from under the bookcase.