Lessons From Leonard -Back and Forth

This post is the final in the series of three called Lessons from Leonard that were learned while I watched my friends cat named Lenny, whom I call…Leonard. Lenny is bred for love. He is a Ragamuffin breed, peach colored long soft fur who walks as if he is punch drunk in love looking for inanimate objects to show affection to by rubbing up against them. Sometimes, he falls over onto his back exposing his belly, legs in the air waiting for a meandering hand to rub his belly. He purrs so loudly and expressively that his nose basically clogs up and he mouth breaths, something I had never experienced with a cat before. The runt of the litter, his purpose throughout his 12 years on this earth is to provide emotional support to whomever needs it at the time. He’s definitely a lover, not a fighter.

But, Leonard and I have a problem.

We don’t know what we want or need. Back and forth, back and forth we go. Let me explain.

I live in a 2 bedroom, less than 1000 square-foot apartment. The two bedrooms are set off to one side and the living room and kitchen are combined in a lovely open concept area with a patio balcony and many windows. It is filled with natural light as well as my ever-present strand of large warm bulbs of stringed lights. My girls and I fell in love with it the instant we saw it. Anyone who visits falls in love with it too.  My daughter (12) closes her door at night as this makes her feel safe but this doesn’t sit well with Leonard who enjoys the dark comforting spot under her bed for sleeping nook, which is his safe space. 

The sleeping situation is ok until about 5 am and then it’s not. It begins with the rhythmic scratching on her door and escalates into little meow and once in awhile one of those cat howls (you know what I am talking about, right?). I begin my day “mom yelling” at him which basically means I growl under my breath, “Stop it Leonard!” which only really satisfies my own need for some kind of control but does nothing to curtail his actual behavior and still wakes up my daughter.

Today, I chose a different path for our 5am rendezvous and brushed him, petting him for at least a good half hour. There was rolling, purring and fur…everywhere. I topped off his food container as well. But, there he was again, scratching at the door, desperately wanting to be someplace that he wasn’t. It was now about 6 am and I thought my daughter wouldn’t be so irate with me if I were to accidentally wake her up, so I peeked open her door and let Lenny in, shutting it behind me as she likes that safety of a closed door. But, about 1 minute later, I was greeted with that same familiar rhythmic scratching and muffled meows. This time Leonard wanted to get out of her room! He wanted to leave the very place he wanted to get in!

“What in the actual hell Leonard?!” I anger whisper. “What do you want? Make up your mind!”

But, here’s the thing about me and Leonard, we don’t really know that we want. In our minds we are stuck between two worlds and they seem very separate which causes us to beg to be let in and out. After getting divorced after 24 years of being with the same person, I find myself scratching at the “door” of that life, desperately wanting back in. Last night, for instance, I watched Bad Mom’s Christmas, a movie that me and the other moms in my group of 20 years would watch when the guys went hunting and there was a twinge of sadness as I ate my gingerbread cookie alone. Scratch, scratch, scratch, “I want to go back.” There is plenty of painful rumination to go around as I grief and play with the cognitive dissonance (holding two viewpoints at the same time). I play with scenarios of “what if” and “if I had only done...” but alas, the door is closed.

Then, there are moments when I scratch at the door of this beautiful world that I frequent from time to time. It is filled with lovely experiences with myself and God (Life). It’s a magical place where I feel connected and alive. Possibilities ooze from my pores and wellbeing envelopes my body, both powerful and peaceful. In this space I see all of the pieces of the puzzle of my life coming together and why it almost had to play out this way. I can see the beautiful lessons that can only be learned through experiences not read in a book.

Just like Leonard, this scratching and howling wanting and in and out becomes wearisome and annoying.

“Just pick a space to live in!”

I shout to Lenny and to myself. This back and forth is killing us, as we are allowed to visit both rooms but cannot be in both simultaneously. Mystics have a word for this experience, liminal space, or the space between two worlds. Between the old self and new. Between the past and the future. The holy… now. Yet, it’s rarely as simple as closing one door and running through the other. Sometimes, it’s a back and forth game. We are just humans (well, Leonard is a feline) and sometimes we just don’t know what we want or where we need to be. We want in and then out and then in again.

Well, what to do about that? I mean, I just gave up and left the door open to my daughter’s room, willing to face her anger vs this game that Lenny and I playing all morning. Maybe that’s the answer, to this in between, is to leave all doors open? I can feel when I enter my old world, it feels terrible and that’s where my demons dance and my spirit wanes. Old trauma patterns emerge and I feel trapped. But, this new world seems so vast that sometimes it overwhelms me. Uncertainty requires great faith and courage to walk into this vast unknown. As I examine my habits and conditioning that have landed me here, I must decide which door I will walk through and what world I will choose to live in after this time of the messy middle. As for Leonard, he chose the safe confinement of the darkness under the bed. My hope is that I will choose the living room, bright, homey and open. Where I see both hope and the sun, rise every day. Even though there is no place to hide here in the open concept living room, I will choose to be fully seen. Here, I can open my balcony door and greet the world at dawn. Here, I can connect with my family over a great meal or laugh at a funny movie. Here, I am free to roam. No more scratching, yearning for the darkness that feels “safe.” Ahh…the beautiful gift of stillness and peace. Leonard taught me a lot in those two weeks.

Maybe these life lessons from Leonard’s are all around us?

Thank you dear Leonard for all your love and lessons.