Learning A New Language
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Humphrey the cat and I are learning a new language together.
He’s coming up on twenty years old now – the equivalent of late nineties in human years – and until less than a year ago, you’d never know it. He’d race around like a kitten, and wander the neighborhood on a leash like an inquisitive puppy. It was remarkable. But now, although he still looks like a young cat, age is catching up with him.
In the last half year, he’s grown wobbly on his feet at times, and we’ve had to assist him medically ever since. He’s also gone almost completely deaf.
In the last month, he’s gone blind. Not completely, but he’s unable to see what is right in front of him, to traverse a room on sight, and other everyday things he relied on his whole life.
I’ve read that cats generally will compensate with other senses if they lose sight – especially using their hearing. But he doesn’t have that. He’s left with smell, floor vibrations, and (I suspect) a very vague sense of light and dark shapes.
I have to think what I would be like if this suddenly happened to me. I know I’d be scared. Probably angry. Certainly frustrated. Possibly feeling hopeless and pointless at first as I struggled to adjust.
This cat isn’t like that. He bumps into things a little. But he knows this house, and where everything is. Once he couldn’t see things, he started pacing around more. I soon realized he was calmly mapping out the whole house in his head. That took a few days, and then he started to move around it differently.
He will leave his bed and gently bump himself right into a wall on the other side of the room. At first, I thought he was disoriented. But I kept watching, and I saw it was deliberate. Once he finds that wall, he’ll move to the end of it, aim in a perfect diagonal across the next room, and that takes him towards the staircase. He’s worked out that if he misses a known target he’ll end up in the center of a room, and then it takes him much longer to work out where he wants to go. So instead, he has a map in his head and known points along the way. He has a plan.
If he ever misses where he is heading for – a staircase, a doorway, a food bowl – but knows he is close, he adjusts yet again. He walks in a gentle circle until he is confident he is aiming the right way. He’ll circle as long and wide as he needs, apparently with no sense of frustration, until he finds a familiar point. It’s remarkable to witness.
On the rare occasion he gets totally disoriented, he’ll give out a little meow, and accept assistance. It’s clear that, while he doesn’t mind help, he’s determined not to rely on it. Once he’s got the help he needs, off he goes again.
Sometimes he’s needed help because of something I did. The first few days, thoughtlessly, I left boxes and bags in the front room when I brought them in. I always had before. But now this threw off his mental map, and he couldn’t find the stairs. I quickly learned to move new objects out of the way. Doors around the house now remain either open or closed. He doesn’t need surprises.
Most remarkably to me, Humphrey wants to go outside three or four times a day. He’s mapping out our steep and rocky back garden. Slowly, he’ll measure out wooden steps and climb them. He will get to a wall with a drop he used to climb down, and on day one he’ll look and decide not to risk it. Day two, he’ll give it a try. He’s now leaping up walls much higher than he is. He’s expanding his world, not contracting it. We even go out for walks at night now, which we never used to before, because for him there no longer seems to be much difference.
On occasion he’ll circle, and I think he’s lost his way again. But soon I see he’s actually circling around me. This is to tell me he wants me to lead the way – I walk, he follows. He’s teaching me a new language of what he needs.
He used to love to snuggle in blankets. Now, blankets are confusing, shifting terrain he’d rather go around. But he’ll find me in bed, put his big, staring eyes right up against mine, then rub his face on me, purr, and feel secure.
I think I am learning as much as he is. About character. About a balance of self-determination but also asking for help when you need it. About accepting a new normal and enjoying what you have. About giving and accepting love without expectation. About a full, rich life with disabilities. I thought I knew these things before. This is a whole new level.
I don’t know how much time we have left together. I do know he’s very happy right now, and I can do my best to make every day fun for him. I’m going to make it really, really good.
