EarthBound TomBoy
By Heidi Johnson-Wright
I am just as human as anyone else.
Which means I’m susceptible to the stupid ideas that humans can have.
I must confess that, even though I
pride myself on championing the rights of the marginalized, I am sometimes
guilty of buying into ugly biases and stereotypes. In this case, I held
prejudices about a friend.
I met her about a year and half ago.
She lives in my neighborhood. When we first saw each other, I sensed that she
wanted to connect with me. Looking back now, I can see that she was clearly
afraid of trusting too much. Afraid of
getting hurt.
I took her standoffishness as
arrogance, because that is what I’d been taught to believe about her group.
That her ilk thought themselves better than everyone else.
So I steered clear of her, until her
overtures of friendship became more insistent. Okay, maybe she’s different, I
thought. Plus, I’m a sucker for a pretty face, and she surely has one. Her eyes
dazzle like blue topaz stones.
We began to connect over food. My
husband was the one who suggested we break bread together. And after a week or
so, it became clear that we were nurturing a real friendship.
I finally began to let go of my
prejudices. Why? Because once I got to know my new friend, I realized she was
amazing. Smart. Sweet and gentle. Funny as all get out.
Within a month, she began visiting our
house on a regular basis. After two months, she was coming to our house every
day, both before I went to work and just after I returned in the evening.
Shortly after that, I had to admit that
my initial biases about my friend were really more about me than her. I
harbored unfair notions because I was afraid of being rejected. Of being made
to feel not good enough. Of being seen as an awkward freak in a sinister,
mechanical contraption on wheels.
But my friend treated me no differently
than she treated my able-bodied husband. She was not the least bit afraid of my
wheelchair. She didn’t run and hide when I moved closer to her. In fact, when I
transferred to my living room recliner, she would sit in my wheelchair right
next to me. She still does.
Perhaps you’ve guessed by now that my
friend isn’t human. She’s a cat. A gorgeous, brilliant, delightful Siamese
kitty.
I’d grown up in a family of “dog
people.” I bought into their anti-feline propaganda. That cats are cold and
unaffectionate. That they see humans solely as sources of food and toys. That
they are incapable or unwilling to bond and love the way dogs do.
What rubbish. In a few short months,
Princess Miyuku Honey Bear of the Royal Court of Siam (that’s her name) taught
me the beautiful truths about cats. The finest of those truths is that cats can
love and accept me, sometimes more wholeheartedly than humans do.
I am most honored to be one of Honey
Bear’s guardians. Because she’s sweet and silly and whip-smart. But mostly
because she accepts me, wheels and all.
