Steph Penny

When I first met Boba at his rescue home, I was immediately taken with his personality. A ginger tabby boy, his outgoing nature was apparent from the first. He approached me with curiosity, sniffing my outstretched hand, looking up at me with wide eyes the colour of pale honey. Within moments he was rubbing his head against my hand.

Little was known about Boba’s history. The foster carer didn’t even know how old he was for sure. She had found Boba wandering around a construction site. She was worried about his safety, so she had taken him home. He was so friendly that she suspected he had originally come from a home full of humans.

The carer gave me a handful of little treats and Boba needed no encouragement. He ate far too many of those biscuits!When I sat down on the couch, he jumped up beside me and laid down by my side. His purr was as loud as his fur was soft. I patted him and he snuggled into me, showing no signs of resistance or trepidation.

I looked up at the carer and nodded.

Boba has been my furbaby—and I have been his—for over eighteen months now. Not only has he been a great companion helping to fill the void left by childlessness, but I can honestly say he has taught me much about balance, self-care and fun.

Balance is not something that comes easily to me. (Does anyone find it easy?) A perfectionist by nature, I find it difficult to slow down let alone stop completely. Relaxation is near impossible. Fun is something to be earned once the chores and hard work are done.

Boba changes all that. When he wants a cuddle, he lets me know in no uncertain terms that it’s time for attention. Despite the carer’s warning that Boba was ‘not a lap cat’, he frequently climbs on top of me, irrespective of what may already be on my lap—food, laptop or book!—and plonks himself down. He’s a big boy too, so once he’s settled, he can be rather difficult to move. This has had the effect of essentially forcing me into regular breaks, where I pat him and lavish attention upon him.

This enforced affection has become a mindfulness moment for me: I feel the softness of his fur under my fingers, listen to the soothing rhythms of his deep purring, see the love in his eyes as he bends his head backwards to look into my face. I can feel my breath slowing down and the noise in my brain quieten a little. It’s a beautiful moment of bonding, and it reminds me that nothing is so urgent that it can’t wait another five minutes while I cuddle Boba a little longer.

When Boba first arrived, he wasn’t terribly playful. But he soon came out of his shell! Within days, he had gone from a quiet, gentle-natured boy to a playful, boisterous kitten. He is still quiet and gentle too, but his kitten-self seems to surface a lot more often now. And he often demands play at the most inconvenient times: when I’m running late for work, when I’m trying to do the dishes, when I have just sat down to dinner.

Yet Boba reminds me that it is always a good time to play. I am learning that it only takes a few moments to put other things on hold and kick a ball in his direction or dangle a ribbon over his head. And it’s good for my wellbeing, that moment of bonding with Boba, watching him tumble head-over-heels as he corners the ball he has been chasing, or sliding along the bare floors as he picks up speed, often slamming into the wall at the end of the room! It gently reminds my overly-serious, perfectionist self that life is supposed to be filled not with chores but with laughter. Who knew that one little boy could be so entertaining?

There is one other way in which Boba rescues me. Two years ago, I lost my long-term furbaby, a rescue cat named Portia. The grief was visceral. For months afterwards, nothing felt right. The house was too quiet. I missed her. There was no one to talk to when I was home alone, no one to welcome me when I walked in the door, no one to cuddle after a bad day. The sense of emptiness and feeling ‘wrong’ was real and lasting.

While I knew that nothing and no one could replace Portia, the profound unsettledness I felt showed me something important: I needed an animal in my life. Having had Portia for most of my independent adult life, and having grown up with pets, my life was discombobulated without an animal around. I realised in that moment that I would need animal companionship in some form for the rest of my life. Boba has filled that void, providing the love and attachment that no person can.

When I found Boba and took him in, I thought I was doing a good thing. I thought I was giving a needy animal a forever home and being a noble rescuer. And I was. But it seems the sentiment is mutual. Boba is now rescuing me.