What my cat taught me: The essence of love is unconditional giving

Because you are part of me, loving you comes effortlessly.

It's another species of me in the world, so I will do my utmost to protect and care for it, as if making up for what I once lacked.

It's a reflection of my soul

I want it to be happy, healthy, lazy, and sleepy.

I don't care how much hair it sheds or if it gets on my clothes; that's proof of my happiness to have it.
Furthermore, I don't care if it scratches my sheets; it's my honor to have it in my bed, to sleep with me. It doesn't matter if it doesn't like cat food. I'm willing to cook fresh meat and vegetables for it every day. Even though people say, “Just starve it a few times, and it'll eat it,” no! I can't bear it! I'm picky about food too, and I can buy other food, but my cat has no money and won't buy it. It has to rely on me to cook for it, so what?! My cat loves the food I cook!

How can we build trust across species?

Sometimes I wonder, who am I in its eyes? Am I its mother? Is he a companion? Or perhaps a slave, someone who cleans up his shit… But when he's pounced on my new little mouse toy, it seems my identity no longer matters, because I just want him to live longer, to be with me longer…

I think he loves me. When I sit in the living room, he'll come and squat next to the sofa. When I sit at the dining table, he'll jump up. When I sit on the floor opening a package, he'll play with his napkin behind me. Even when I poop, he'll squat on the sink, watching me, waiting for me to fall asleep, even if he's so sleepy he can't even open his eyes…

The price of love? No, it's the proof of happiness

You love it so much that you're willing to lean over and guess its moods. You love it so much that you'd search for information and doctors just to understand the different emotional signals it sends. Furthermore, you love it so much that whenever it arches its back, you know to comfort it. You remember its preferred brand of canned food and reserve the best sunny spot by the window for it. Because it is the most perfect gift for you.

It can't speak, but you never blame it. You don't complain, “How can I understand you if you don't speak?” You treat it like a fragile glass and go to great lengths to get it to drink more water.

Your friend's puppy is warm and docile, and you don't compare it to others. You love it so much that you constantly convince yourself it's just a cat. You indulge its bad temper, soothe its moodiness, swallow its sharp reproaches, and justify its indifference.

Love is an instinct; it doesn't need to be learned or begged.