July 19th, 2011. A day etched in my memory; the day a tiny ginger enigma entered my life. I christened him “Flow,” born of my deep, abiding love for the rhythmic poetry of hip-hop. I envisioned a feline maestro, a lithe dancer, gliding through our home with the effortless grace of a perfectly timed verse. I pictured him leaping with balletic precision onto the sofa, paws outstretched in biscuit-making fashion; a warm, purring companion who would curl up on my lap during my late night YouTube basketball video binges.
Flow, it turned out, possessed the grace of a baby elephant attempting pirouettes. Where most cats moved with the silent, fluid elegance of shadows, Flow thundered about, his padded paws announcing his arrival like a miniature marching band. And as for feline acrobatics? Let’s just say he was less “leaping gazelle” and more “jello-squelching-down-a-wall.” Teaser toys, laser pointers, and other staples of feline amusement were regarded with the same polite disinterest one might show a particularly dull lecture on theoretical mathematics. Even the local lizard population, those scurrying acrobats of the ceiling, failed to pique his interest. And as for basketball: it became quite apparent that he found the bouncing ball as thrilling as watching paint dry.
But we got close. Ours was a quiet, unassuming friendship that grew more like wildflowers in an untended garden rather than under the strict, calculated conditions of a greenhouse. It became clear that we weren’t chasing some idealized feline relationship; we simply were. We accepted each other’s rhythms. We respected the subtle language of shared space. I quickly realized that Flow considered being carried like an infant (as one does with other small, fuzzy animals) an indignity akin to being forced to wear a tiny, stupid looking hat. So, I tempered my urge to scoop him up and squeeze his fuzzy belly, instead waiting for his gentle head boops and paw taps; quiet affirmations that signaled “OK, you have 15 seconds. Make them count.”
At the time when Flow joined the family, I was a columnist for a national daily and a contributing writer for a bunch of other publications. I attended events by day and, in the hushed hours of the night, as I wrestled with deadlines and the unruly chaos of my thoughts, Flow was my silent sentinel. He’d sprawl behind my laptop, a warm, furry anchor in the swirling sea of words. And as the last sentence was typed, the final period placed, he’d, with the predictability of an atomic clock, roll onto his back, offering a single, precious belly scratch—like offering a reward for once again burning the midnight oil.
Things are totally different now. I’m full-on corporate in the big city, while Flow resides in our family home, luxuriating in the crisp mountain air of Baguio, a retired gentleman enjoying his golden years. These days Flow isn’t exactly a picture of youthful exuberance. But, then again, he never really was. He still regards the vibrant birdlife on the balcony with the same detachment he showed the lizards of his youth. He still ambles about with the dignified gait of a miniature hippopotamus. And he still allows me to cuddle him only on his own, very specific terms.
I always knew Flow was a cool cat. But what truly resonates, what makes him so dear to me, is how he took all my preconceived notions about cats and, with a gentle paw, swatted them into the metaphorical litter box. He taught me that expectations can sometimes turn out to be the architect of disappointment, and that true connection lies in embracing the unique, the unexpected.
It wasn’t a lightning bolt of revelation but a slow, gentle unfolding. I learned that Flow had his own unique cadence, his own inimitable “flow.” He was, and is, entirely and wonderfully himself. And through him, I found a lifelong lesson: sometimes, the greatest magic lies not in what we expect or yearn for, but in the beautiful, imperfect reality that’s right in front of us.
flowdacat.blogspot.com hasn’t been updated in more than a decade but I’m glad it’s still up and floating around on the Internet.
