The Cats Learned to Understand Her

From the moment Chloe entered our sanctuary, she’s had quite a way of making an entrance. She’ll run directly toward another cat, give them a quick, gentle tap on the head, stare at them for a second, then dart off again. Considering how she never puts out her claws, you might think she suddenly remembered something important she had to tell them.

Most of the time, the other cat will simply watch her dart off. They have an expression which seems to say, “What just happened?”

There was a time when I thought Chloe would get herself in trouble by acting this way. I admit I’d even think to myself, “Chloe, you’re being so annoying.” Afterwards she’d run up to another cat and do it again. It was as if she’d heard what I was thinking and did it anyways.

For some reason, Chloe especially enjoyed bothering the cats who weren’t as confident as she was. These were the cats who definitely didn’t understand Chloe was simply trying to make friends and play with them. The only thing they seemed to understand was another cat had run up out of nowhere and bopped them on the head before running off again. Meanwhile, Chloe was baffled because nobody wanted to play with her, nor did they chase after her.

This type of misunderstanding is something I knew a little about even before Chloe arrived. I was always the one who didn’t fit in at school. The other kids thought I was a nerd because I loved everything about school. I loved learning, reading books, and even spending hours in the library while other kids were off doing something else. Throughout school, I even got excited when the teacher would ask a question because somehow I usually knew all the right answers.

Although there’s really nothing wrong with any of this, it was enough to make other kids think I was different. Unfortunately, kids tend to be cruel to kids who are different from themselves.

To this day, I’ll never forget the one time when we were riding home from school on the bus and someone thought it’d be funny to throw gum in my hair. I still remember how humiliating it was to sit there, knowing what had happened, everyone had seen it, and because it was gum, there was nothing I could do about it right then. Years later, this seems like such a small blip in history, but back then it felt so big.

School taught me how to ignore mean people, which meant spending most of my time alone. I wasn’t invited to go places like dances. While other kids found it easy to make a group of friends, I never did.

My senior year in high school was even worse. Right before the school year began, my family moved from Toledo, Ohio, to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. There, I started attending a Catholic school which was much larger than my previous school. Everyone who went to my new school seemed to already know how they fit in. They had their friends, their routines, and their places at lunch, but I was the new kid.

The school had assigned me a person who was supposed to help me get through my first day. Eventually, they’d become the only person I talked to at school. I was a nerd, an outsider, and for a long time I thought this meant there was something wrong with me. This was quite different from what I’d experienced almost a decade earlier in third grade.

Back then I had a very kind and caring teacher by the name of Mr. Monroe. Unlike the other adults and children who were around me, he saw my uniqueness as something to protect. He understood I was gifted with a love for learning. It was as if he believed I’d go on to do something great with my life.

At the end of the school year, we became pen pals. Each time I’d mail him a letter, he’d write back. We spoke as though there was no difference between us in age. At the time, I didn’t understand how unusual it was for an adult to spend so much time with a child who felt like everyone else had forgotten them. Today, I wish I still had those letters.

Eventually, the letters stopped coming. I didn’t know why. All I knew was he didn’t answer my last letter. A few months later, his mother wrote to tell me he’d died.

It didn’t occur to me at the time but his letters gave me such a gift. There was only one thing I knew. He was the only person who’d seen that just because I was different didn’t mean I was any less worthy.

Now, as an adult, I was watching another life struggle to be understood. This time it was a cat. Her name is Chloe.

She wasn’t trying to be mean to those around her. She simply didn’t understand how to play with other cats. Chloe would run up to them, tap them, stare for a few seconds, and run away in hopes they’d follow her. This would happen again and again. None of the other cats could figure out what she was trying to do.

One day, Maple finally understood what Chloe was doing. It didn’t surprise us it was him. Maple has always done his best to make friends with everyone. Regardless of whether it’s a cat or any other type of animal or human, Maple really doesn’t care. If there’s someone in the room who’s looking for a friend, Maple is in line to fill out the application.

The other cats took longer to warm up to Chloe’s antics. Although there wasn’t a singular dramatic moment when the change suddenly occurred, it did happen. Slowly but surely, everyone learned what Chloe meant when she’d bop them on the head.

Everyone began understanding she wasn’t going to attack them. Her little tap on the head wasn’t meant to hurt them. She wasn’t trying to tell them she was bigger or stronger. All she wanted them to do was chase her through the sanctuary.

Eventually, everyone began to understand. Some of them even chose to play with her. This is when something even more interesting happened. The other cats actually started to initiate play with her.

I’d walk into a room where Chloe was laying and see another cat approach her. Suddenly, it was on. There’d be a full-on game of chase. Chloe loved when this happened. She always jumped at the opportunity. It completely delighted her that somehow someone finally understood her invitation. This is the same invitation she’d been giving all along.

At the same time this was happening, I also noticed another change in Chloe. She started to calm down. It was as though the more the other cats showed her they understood her, the less Chloe felt the need to stand up for herself and the less stressed she became.

Today, most of the other cats who’ve been in our sanctuary for a while have concluded, “That’s simply how Chloe is.”

There’s something about watching how this all played out that’s stuck with me. None of the cats required Chloe to change who she was to be accepted by them. Instead, the cats took the time to learn her language.

This led me to doing some thinking about myself. I wondered what it’d be like if someone had been patient enough to learn my language when I was a child.

Mr. Monroe was the only one who tried to do so. He didn’t ask me to stop reading and become less curious, nor did he ask me to be less enthusiastic when I knew the answer. I didn’t have to be like everyone else. I could sit alone, and as Mr. Monroe kept writing to me, I could discover many new things about myself. One of those many things was that just because I was different didn’t mean I was broken.

I wish there’d been more adults in my life who’d taught me this lesson. I also wish the other children had taken the time to get to know me instead of simply slapping a label on me.

Although I can’t go back and change this for myself, I can give Chloe this opportunity. I can let her run across the room, tag another cat, and initiate a game of chase.

Now the chase is on. Another cat runs after Chloe as she tries to outrun them. At this moment, there’s no misunderstanding in their world.