Member-only story
How my Cat’s Limp Turned Me into an Ood: A Meditation
I feel my heart drop as soon as I see her walk down the hall, limping. My heart stays down, dropped below the arc of my ribcage. The heart is vulnerable there, outside the embrace of sternum and lungs. I can’t worry about that yet. There is a creature who hurts and who relies on me for its care.
I hold my cat in my lap, right in front of the place where my heart landed, hoping that her purring and my heartbeat will combine to create a vibration that will soothe and heal her aching joint.
I run my hands over her leg, gently squeezing, looking for the exact spot, the exact cause of this limp. She winces slightly when I reach her paw. I hold her closer to my heartbeat, whispering, “I’m sorry.”
The vet confirms arthritis, and probably pain, in both hip joints and her right front elbow joint. Cats feel pain, they don’t show pain. I think back on the days of longer and longer naps in the cool dark of my bedroom, of the neglected toys and empty cat trees. I feel my heart exit my body and pulsate painfully in the open air.
On Doctor Who, the Ood are a telepathic alien species who carry around part of their brain in their hands. They are gentle, vulnerable, and therefore often mistreated. When they are freed, they send forth a song that can be heard over multiple galaxies. When my…