I am officially a kitty foster mom.
I took the leap and opened up an extra room in our house, and a little more of my heart, to help kitties who need some respite, time to heal, extra snuggles and love before they find their forever homes.
Pablo is my first foster – isn’t he just the cutest little guy? He is a 6-month-old kitten who was rescued from the streets, recovering from some wounds and needing to gain some weight.
What I did not anticipate was how quickly he would capture my heart. This little guy is a lover boy for sure. He wants to cuddle, be close, and soak up every bit of affection you are willing to give him.
But what I also did not fully comprehend was how important feeling safe and secure is before any of us – human or animal – can truly begin to settle, heal, and grow.
From his very first meal, Pablo wanted me to sit next to him while he ate.
If he heard a loud or sudden noise, he would stop eating, look up, and look directly at me as if he were asking, Is everything okay? Am I still safe?
And I would reassure him he was safe in a gentle voice, and sit there quietly with him until he went back to his food.
It made me think about what life must have been like for this little guy before he arrived here.
No wonder he had not been thriving. He had been surviving.
His little body had been on high alert, focused on getting his most basic needs met: finding food, staying out of danger, protecting himself. There had probably been very little opportunity to completely let down his guard.
His energy had been going toward survival rather than growth.
And then, slowly, things began to change.
Within a day or two, Pablo started to relax a little. He ate A LOT and began settling into what I jokingly call the Gilbert Resort & Spa.
He discovered the big comfy bed. He received endless cuddles. People came in to visit him, but everyone approached him gently. No rushing. No forcing. Just quiet voices, slow movements, affection and patience.
And he seemed to welcome the calm.
Of course, if something startled him, he would still dart under the dresser. That instinct to protect himself did not magically disappear just because he was now safe.
But eventually, I started noticing something different.
Instead of staying hidden, he would hear me walk into the room and come out.
He would greet me.
He would rub against my legs, climb up beside me, curl into my body and purr.
And there was something about his eyes.
He would look so deeply at you that it almost felt like he was looking into your soul – taking in your energy, assessing everything, deciding whether it was okay to trust you.
And then, when he decided it was…
Pure magic.
What a gift it has been to witness that transition – from feeling unsafe and stressed to slowly beginning to understand that maybe he doesn’t have to be on guard every second.
That food will be there.
That the person walking into the room is coming to love him, not hurt him.
That a loud noise doesn’t necessarily mean danger.
That he can sleep deeply.
That he can play.
That he can receive.
I keep thinking about what Pablo’s nervous system must have been doing before he was rescued – constantly firing, scanning, ready to fight, run or hide. And while he is beginning to feel safe, I imagine some of that vigilance will remain his default for a while.
Trust takes time.
And maybe that’s true for us, too.
We don’t always know what another person has experienced before they walk into a room with us. We don’t know what they are carrying, what has taught them to stay guarded, or why their nervous system may be telling them to protect themselves.
Sometimes what helps isn’t advice or fixing or saying exactly the right thing.
Sometimes it is simply the experience of being with someone who feels safe.
“The most precious gift you can offer to someone is your presence.”– Thich Nhat Hanh
Pablo has reminded me just how powerful that kind of presence can be.
Sitting beside someone.
Moving gently.
Looking them in the eyes.
Listening without rushing.
Allowing them to come out from underneath their own proverbial dresser when they are ready.
Helping them feel that, at least for this moment, they don’t have to be on high alert.
My time with Pablo has taught me so much about patience, compassion and trust. But perhaps most of all, he has reminded me that there is something incredibly beautiful about helping another being feel safe enough to soften.
Safe enough to rest.
Safe enough to receive.
Safe enough to be exactly who they are.
And maybe that is one of the quietest ways we can love one another.
