When the Universe Sends a Cat

Listening, Loss and the Art of Showing Up Softly

I’ve never been one to seek out pets—they’ve always found me. Growing up, we had the same German Shepherd, Smokey Bear, from my age ten through college. He was loyal, noble, and smelled faintly of wet leaves and cozy safety. After a few years in college, a friend convinced me that a kitten would “complete my life.” Spoiler: it didn’t. That situation unraveled faster than yarn at a cat café, but soon after I met a stray adult cat—simply named Kitty—who became my steady sidekick for years.

Decades later, when I took my cross-country RV adventure, I brought along another feline friend, Mew Mew. She had the patience of a saint and the judgmental stare of a TSA agent. When Chris and I met, he already had two kitties—Smookie and Poose Poose—distinguished elder states-cats who ruled the household with equal parts affection and disdain. They lived long, good lives, and when they passed, our home became a guinea-pig-only establishment. (Yes, really. And yes, they squeak for lettuce like it’s crack.)

I’ll admit, during my New York City era with Mew Mew, I leaned a little cat-lady-adjacent. Picture this: me strolling through Manhattan with one of those see-through bubble backpacks, feline face pressed against the dome like a tiny astronaut. I was that woman. And you know what? No regrets.

Fast-forward a few more years. Chris and I recently inherited a new cat, Zsa Zsa, after his mom, Aleda, passed on September 14, 2025. The grief was tender and deep—but out of that loss came this bright, living reminder of love in motion. Zsa Zsa has been the softest balm imaginable: affectionate, inquisitive, considerate, and playfully mischievous. She is, quite literally, the gift that purrs on arrival. I’m over the moon to give her a safe, loving home. (And yes, the guinea pigs are fine—everyone’s first question. Coexistence has been achieved. There’s mutual respect, if not actual friendship.)

What’s surprised me most are the lessons she brings. Every day, Zsa Zsa enters a room as if it’s her first time there. Even if she left an hour ago, she pauses at the threshold, tail flicking like a metronome. Her eyes sweep the perimeter. She takes in everything: new scents, moved objects, subtle shifts in light. It’s not fear—it’s attention. Reverence, even. When I open a cupboard or drawer for her inspection, she explores like a miniature archaeologist, grateful for the discovery.

Watching her has changed how I move through my own spaces. Instead of rushing into the next moment like it owes me something, I pause. I take stock. When we come down the stairs together each morning, she stops on the landing to assess the main floor—ears forward, whiskers alert. I do the same now. Her pause has become our shared ritual, a quiet check-in with reality. I don’t sense anxiety in her—just curiosity, patience, and presence. Three traits that, frankly, I could use more of.

Zsa Zsa’s stealth mode isn’t about hiding—it’s about respect & noticing. It’s the art of mindful reconnaissance. She embodies what every meditation app tries (and fails) to teach: awareness without commentary. She doesn’t name things good or bad; she just observes, absorbs, and occasionally bats at the unknown to see what happens.

The longer she’s been here, the more I realize she’s not just a pet—she’s a furry Zen master. She naps with total surrender. She stretches like she’s auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. She listens with her whole body. And she’s wildly generous with her affection—when she feels like it, of course. There’s a lesson in that too: offer love from fullness, not obligation.

As I continue my journey through this wild ride of chaos and calm, loss and laughter, I keep coming back to what she teaches simply by being herself: slow down. Breathe. Observe before you leap. Check the perimeter before you proclaim the sky is falling. And above all, listen. She’s always listening—ears swiveling like tiny satellite dishes, attuned to the slightest rustle or whisper. It’s not paranoia; it’s presence. She reminds me that listening isn’t just hearing sounds—it’s sensing the energy of a room, catching the unspoken, and responding from stillness instead of noise.

Naturally, I’ve given this wisdom an acronym (because of course I did). LFTG: Look For The Gift. In every moment, every emotion, every new “room” life drops you into—pause long enough to look for the gift. Then use curiosity, creativity and patience to actually find the gift and live it.
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Some gifts arrive wrapped in fur and grief. Some come disguised as detours, delays, or hairballs in your favorite sweater. But every single one invites us to slow down, to live with the kind of gentle curiosity that turns ordinary moments into sacred ones. Zsa Zsa reminds me daily: the world is full of wonder if you enter it softly, tail high, eyes open.

No Other Love
​All there is to do – is listen
to your own heart
Follow your own song
to the beat of the drum within.
Do not despair or grow impatient
Like the tides ebb and flow –
as the seasons go
So turn the circles of your time.
Within each breath be grateful
Talk to me – Listen – Breathe
Gracefully your life unfolds
in time’s time with wisdom and magic.
There is no other time but now.
There is no other love but ours.
Laurie McCauley, 01–2019

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