Lisa Zentner

I wasn’t supposed to own cat. And I wasn’t supposed to be childless.

I had wanted a dog. Cats were cold and antisocial, but dogs were cuddly and loyal. I had always longed to raise a puppy so that together we could be adventurers. But my parents weren’t keen on having a pet of any kind – they already had 4 kids to raise.

I had wanted children. I was significantly younger than my 3 siblings (8 years+) and thought that I would have 4 kids myself one day. After university and seeing my friends move out and move on, I longed to make my own mark. So I moved clear across the country and sowed my 20-something oats as a ski bum. That long-distance separation from my family and the thrill of independence from what felt like 5 parents at home left me with an unquenchable thirst for more.

My siblings all had children and were the quintessential ‘soccer-parents’ – committed to their children and super-involved. At the time, I couldn’t envision that life for myself so, I spent the next 10+ years working and traveling, with every adventure seeming to lead me to the next great opportunity that I just couldn’t refuse. I felt happy, strong, free, and lucky to have traveled to every continent, meeting worldly men, and excelling my career – until my 35th birthday. My dad of few words took me aside at our family party and said, “a man doesn’t want a smart girl, he wants a nice girl”. I interpreted that to mean: I was too business-like, and I needed to settle down, play-nice, and find a husband so that I could fit in.

His comment stung for days. But it was a wakeup call to the fact that I was still very much single, and that if I had a dream of marriage and kids, it was a long way from reality.

That jolt started the next 7 years of 4am panic attacks where I would wake up wild eyed with racing thoughts of: “I need to find someone”, “I need to have a baby”, and then “I’m going to end up alone”, “I’m running out of time”. I dated feverously but I suppose my desperation made me not as discerning as I should have been. After years of starts and stops, and several failed relationships including abusive one, I met a man that I wanted everything with. Exhausted from searching and bereft of self-confidence, I subconsciously decided to choose him despite his very early declaration that he could not commit and didn’t want kids.

Knowing the impossibility of leaving him at age 44 and finding someone new who was going to want a child with me, I stayed with him and began a tumultuous year of IVF treatments with donor sperm. The emotional and physical demands of IVF were almost more than I could bear. I felt disconnected, distraught, and depressed as I consumed and injected a whole suite of drugs every day to try and manufacture a baby.

Perhaps it was my career-oriented, carefree, travelling lifestyle up to that point that led a very close family member to communicate that I was selfish and self-centered. With a past littered with failed relationships, a non-committal boyfriend, and invasive IVF, I was beaten down and started to believe that she was right. How could someone like me with the life I’d been living, become a single mother and spend the kind of dedicated time required to properly care for and love a child? Would I slow down long enough to play games? Read bedtime stories? Help with homework? I had hoped so, but I wasn’t entirely sure.

After 1.5 years of unsuccessful IVF, I stopped all treatments, and my relationship ended 5 years after that. Having always been involved with volunteer organizations locally and abroad, I became a foster parent to the nearby animal shelter.

With almost no training, rigorous background checking, or significant animal experience, I was given a 4-month-old kitten that needed respite from the shelter and nervously transported her home, terrified that we had both made a big mistake.

I was wrong.

I ended up never giving her back. I named her Sweet Tea (“sweetie”) because she was the cutest, spunkiest, cuddliest little creature I had ever met. This cat played hide-and-seek, jumped in and out of boxes and bags, curled up in my lap when I worked, and lay beside me when I slept. Besides my mom, I had never had anyone or anything love me so unconditionally.

I put a harness on her and our outdoor adventures began. I took her bike riding, kayaking, trail walking, cottaging – I shared every part of my life with her. I developed an appreciation and admiration for the sensitivity, intelligence, and innocence of animals, and I started to see the world through her eyes. I marveled at its beautiful simplicity and rejoiced with her in little moments like basking in a sunbeam,relishing a warm snuggle, or devouring a favorite treat.

Sweet Tea captured my heart and slowly, without thinking, I found myself making plans to accommodate her, spending time to play with her, carving out space inside and outside the house so she could stay entertained yet safe. I went out of my way, compromised, changed plans, and dedicated time to my Sweet in ways that I never thought (or was told) I was capable of.

Then it dawned on me. That family member had been very wrong about me.

I would have been a very good mother.

My plans for a child didn’t work out. But thanks to Sweet Tea, I know that I have a deep capacity to care, to love, and to give back. Of all the gifts this cat has given me so far in her short 3-years of life, this realization has been the greatest, most healing gift of all.