Could It Be Love?

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Exactly where is the line between brave and foolish?

Here’s why I ask: Our orange tabby cat Miru has decided that he’s safe with our new 70 pound, 9-month-old, puppy, Kenai. Miru insists on leaving my bedroom, where he’s been safely gated in, to wander the house at night. His desire for freedom—I get that. His fierce autonomy and can-do attitude will no doubt keep him from falling into depression as the two adjust.

And risky though his plan may be, I suspect there’s some love in the mix as well.

Before you sound the alarm, please know I do not allow these two to socialize unsupervised. There’s a reason I bought a baby gate as tall as my bedroom door.

But the possibility of love? That’s an interesting development.

I don’t think Miru particularly loved our last dog, Leo. They feuded for 5 years, certain the other was planning an assault, before they settled into what appeared to be a truce. Leo then chased off other cats to protect his own. Maybe Miru noticed.

When Leo passed, Miru sat vigil with me through the night. We snuggled beside the woodstove, sending Leo’s spirit home.

When the puppy arrived, Miru didn’t protest. He allowed himself to be ushered in a wide berth around Kenai while the puppy settled in. With Kenai on a leash, I gave them both treats to help them adjust to sharing space.

Then Kenai had a growth spurt, and his chase instinct went through the roof. I moved into hyperdrive, learning to direct Kenai’s bursts of energy. I wanted no fear and no accidents.

It’s gone well. Until now, when Miru announces he wants out. He sits at the kitty gate and yowls to be a part of things.

Again, I hustle for solutions.

I redesign Kenai’s sleeping quarters so the cat can be out at night. While Kenai is in his crate, Miru can sit on an ottoman nearby, next to the fire.

And dang if Miru doesn’t sit right beside that pup. Despite Kenai’s propensity for a sudden dash, Miru trusts in his lopsided grin. Or maybe Miru trusts in himself as the ultimate stop sign. For whatever reason, our cat does not shrink from that dog.

Miru sits by his kitty door now, reaching an arm through to pat the pillow next to Kenai’s face. Kenai backs away, fascinated and afraid. With quiet calm, Miru persists. Later, he walks straight up to Kenai on the street, pausing 3 feet out of range to lick his paw.

Love can make us brave, and love can make us do the stupidest of things. I’m not sure which rules in this case. But I’m here for it, and I know that love will spill outwards to touch us all.

Last night, for the first time, I was able to sit and read a book on the couch with Kenai on the leash, lying beside me. Miru moved closer. Kenai held very still and eventually flopped onto his side and fell asleep.

Maybe love is something we have to relax into. It moves in and makes itself at home when we put down our guard, discard our demands, and let go.

Kenai wags his tail when he sees Miru outside. He chases off the neighborhood cats through the window. These are the first signs of love—protecting and drawing near. I doubt he understands the impulse.

We are familiars. We are family.

Love. How can a feeling so soft crack the heart wide open?