A Quiet Connection to the Environment (Marie Cluff)
Recently, I’ve been reflecting on my personal relationship with the environment. I figured that I would need to constantly be outside and away from the bustle of life to have one. But maybe my efforts don’t need to be so grand. What if we all have a relationship with the environment? We are in and a part of it, so maybe a relationship is inescapable. In some way, I’m sure my daily habits already reinforce and build this connection.
Lately, I’ve been spending more time outside, and it has opened up a seemingly new world. It all started when I moved into my new home, where I “adopted” several outdoor cats that had been living under the porch for years. When I first arrived, they were nowhere to be found, but I put food out anyway. Two days went by before I saw the mother, Pepper. For several days she remained distant, only eating the food after I went back inside.
With patience, she grew braver, eventually eating dinner with me nearby. Then she brought a kitten with her, but it was extremely skittish, and I never saw it for too long. I put food out every morning and night. Sometimes Pepper was there, sometimes she wasn’t. One morning, I opened the door to Pepper waiting. The next day, she took a treat from my hand. Soon after, she rubbed against my leg and even let me touch her tail.
Throughout all of this, I tried to be still and quiet (even though all I wanted to do was hug and pet her). I wouldn’t look at her, I wouldn’t move, I would simply sit and let her observe me. Sometimes I would leave the door open, and she would wander inside for a bit, through the garage and even into the kitchen. Although I really didn’t, and still don’t, know exactly what I was doing, it seemed to be working. Pepper grew accustomed to me and appeared less afraid.
Her baby, now named Pebble, began trailing behind, sitting in the distance as Pepper and I interacted. Just the other day, I had the garage side door open while I was painting. Pebble (alone this time) walked into the garage and sat by me. I got up to get her food. Although she was slightly startled, she stayed. I placed her bowl down, and she ate while purring as I returned to my painting. At one point I closed the door, her only way back outside, and she didn’t seem to mind. I think I was more shocked than the cat. Only a few days earlier, she would never have come this close, and now she takes naps by my desk while I paint.
My relationship with Pepper and Pebble has shifted how I understand the environment. At first, my goal was to gain their trust so I could take them to a clinic to be spayed. But over time, that mission faded. Instead, I found myself simply enjoying their presence, sharing space with them without expecting anything in return. Although I would still love to get them veterinary care, it’s no longer my main objective. Somewhere in the process of sitting quietly by the cats and offering my presence, I let go of my task-oriented thinking. In doing so, I opened myself to a quieter kind of relationship with the environment, one that happens in small everyday moments rather than grand gestures.
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