I don't remember myself how old I was, but from the description of the bedroom my mom told me that I was about 18 months old. And I never succeeded with this goal, of course. . . .but it didn't stop me from trying.
I used to think this nightly ritual was about "protection," but perhaps not. The woman with whom I was conversing thought the encircling of the animals was more about "nesting" so as to create the feeling of being contained. . . .which I found most interesting, indeed.
Back in 2005, as I sat on the edge of the rim trying to take in the immensity of the grand canyon, I had this weird experience of feeling both insignifantly tiny and large enough to walk through the canyon like a Paul Bunyon giant, both at the same time. It felt as if my spirit was released from the confinements of my body and felt, for the first time, something large enough to contain it in a way that didn't suffocate or bind me or my spirit. It was as if my spirit had been released like a genie from the bottle, and my life would never be the same. This was the experience that drew me back to the canyon.
As the conversation continued, the woman shared her reflections about me and how she sees me live my life, and somehow we ended up talking about stray animals and their relationship to containment. There are essentially two types of stray animals: true strays and abandoned animals. The abandoned animal doesn't want to be separated from its containment, from its home, so it won't run away because all they want is to be back inside with their people, with their human pack/family. But a true stray will run away. Not run away permanently, perhaps, but they are the animals that will dig themselves out of the back yard or bolt out the open door if given even half the chance.
I have known both abandoned animals who were grateful to have the containment of home, and strays who always preferred the freedom of the outdoor life. My dog Shadow was an abandoned animal, as is my kitty Sarra. But Ketra. . . .ah, sweet Ketra, she was a true stray who never quite gave up her "outdoor kitty" to become an "indoor kitty," and I quickly learned to stop trying, even when that meant that I needed to move on without her out of respect for her choice to stay.
Stray cats are just a different breed of cat. . . . the true free spirits of the world.
As for me, I may long to be inside the warmth of home and family, but I'm just not willing to compromise even one piece of my spirit for the conditions that are placed upon me. Nature, wilderness, God. . . .these are the only unconditionals I find in this world. And so I remain free to roam at will, moving from one home to another, from one adventure to another, because I am a true stray cat from the core of my spirit.
I think I've been feeling a little bit like an abandoned animal, displaced from the warmth of family and home against her will, wounded and badly in need of a good vet. But the old stray cat spunk is beginning to move its way through me again, so there's a bit more spring in my step, and bit more swoosh in my tail. Stella may have got her groove back, but this stray cat is getting ready to strut :)