Table of Contents
PRAISE FOR
Lessons from Stanley the Cat
Lessons from Stanley the Cat is Jennifer Freeds loving tribute to her feline companion of many years, wherein she enumerates in so many ways the qualities that sustained a deeply meaningful and long-lasting relationship, qualities that can shape the very best in us and in those with whom we want most to share our lives. There is much wisdom here, rendered with simplicity, humor, and grace.
Christopher Lloyd, three-time Emmy Award winner
Receiving Stanleys life lessons through Jennifer Freed is like getting mountain spring water through a crystal pipenothing is purer.
David Millikin, North American Bureau Chief,
Agence France Press (AFP)
As the owner of four dogs and a lover of all animals, I have long believed that we have a lot to learn from our four-legged friends. What a teacher I have found in Stanley the Cat! You will laugh, you will cry. You will come away with a better understanding of furry creatures everywhere, and most important, a better understanding of yourself.
Bianca Kajlich, actress
Not since Old Possums Book of Practical Cats have I so delighted in the wisdom and humor of the feline race. Stanley is irresistibly smart and true.
Lise Haines, author ofGirl in the Arena
This wise and winning little book can be profitably read many times, and in at least three different ways: First, read it through with the delightfully apt illustrations as they play off the words that apply perfectly equally to two realities, cat and human, at the same time. But then another time, focus entirely on the words alone, full of emotional intelligence and the wisdom of experience. And finally, read it in appreciation of how marvelously Stanley the Cats life and personality have been creatively transmitted by his remarkable human companion to convey, with a light spirit and a sure touch, so many valuable insights for living a happier, more centered, and more fruitful life.
Richard Tarnas, bestselling author of
The Passion of the Western MindandCosmos and Psyche
To my mother, Nancy Lee,
who taught me to deeply love
the beyond-human world
INTRODUCTION
For thirty years, its been my job to study and understand the vicissitudes of human strengths and weaknesses. Ive consulted on thousands of psychotherapy cases in my career; Ive written books about character, compassion, sexuality, and personality. Everything I learn, I pass on, so that people may live more gracefully in the worlds they inhabit. And who, people have asked, has been by my side inspiring me through all these years as a seasoned psychotherapist and educator?
My cat, Stanley.
Stanley was the love of my life. This is something I try not to say too often because my mate gets offended and gives me the dagger eye. Stanley and I were together for almost twenty years, and he continues to be my greatest teacher, as I believe his lessons are timeless. Some people may say I am twisted for giving a cat such status and respect, but one thing years of practicing and teaching psychotherapy have taught me: you cannot judge a living master by his cover, and humans often overrate their importance on planet Earth.
When you come across an enlightened being it is best to drop judgments and receive the lessons. Stanley, through his remarkable life and his evolved death, shared his wisdom with all creatures he encountered.
To help him reach the greatest possible audience, Stanley and I became a teaching team. He demonstrated and I witnessed. He showed me the way, and I faithfully translated his wisdom into human signs and symbols. His paw prints have marked my soul indelibly. Stanley is the teacher; I am the devoted scribe.
When Stanley first moved in with me as a small kitten, we cuddled endlessly, entwined as one. He preferred affection, at any time, to food. Sometimes when I left the house early I was seized by the thought of him alone in the house. When I would come through the door at night, he was never shy to run to me, to listen to every detail of my day, to follow me around the kitchen as I prepared a meal. In short, Stanley and I lived in a mobile and indestructible bubble of bliss.
Our first test was when he became dangerously ill with bronchitis. I stayed up with him three nights in a row as he wheezed like a chain saw in my face. He never complained; he simply huddled as close as he could to me and gasped for air as his nose clogged with what seemed like superglue. Three days of sleepless nursing tested our bond, yet even that became a proof of some type of selfless love, a love that could endure all.
When he was well, I nuzzled his downy face and he would nuzzle mine in return. He learned early on how to come up and press his purring softness into my face. He was especially gifted at knowing just when to do that when I was crying or upset.
To say that Stanley was a wild man would be an understatement. He was fearlessly drawn to the outdoors and would coax me at all hours to break routine and join the cacophony, or silence, of the wildlife just outside our downtown cottage.
One of his habits was to wander in and out of the bedroom during the night. We slept with the bedroom door open to the backyard. We felt safe enough, and living in Santa Barbara afforded us consistently benign weather. At first I was so attuned to his every movement that I would awaken each time he sauntered out under the moonlight. But as time wore on he became like a mist drifting in and out, and when his warm, supple body quietly pushed up against mine, I would feel a sense of grace, and primordial comfort.
During our first two years together, I was studying madly as I was a newly appointed chair of a program in psychology. I soon learned that even books were offensive to Stanleys aesthetic. He would be so bold as to swat at the book I was reading with contempt, or place some part of his body between me and the page. I became more and more preoccupied with my work and studies, and this is when Stanley found the comforts of food. He had always maintained a firm physique when we were first together, even though his gait was more languorous than athletic. However now his shape was following his sybaritic appetite, and he was growing round. Some of my dearest friends would be rude enough to comment. I could tell it hurt him, but he always maintained his indifference to public opinion and would wear his size with an almost Roman pride.
When Stanley was about five years old, I was called away for work for a monthlong training program. Whenever I would call home, I was told that Stanley was nowhere to be found. I started imagining the worst. He didnt say goodbye and he wasnt coming back.
When I finally returned home, it seemed as if the whole place had been holding its breath. That night I dreamed that I went everywhere just shouting Stanleys name. I felt as if the world had been suctioned dry of color. My heart hung like a broken and twisted branch. I went for days trying to catch a scent of him, harnessing my thoughts into a funnel of telepathic begging. Please, Stanley, come home.
Then one morning, Stanley ambled into the bedroom. He casually lumbered in, looking around the room as if he had left something there, and sidled up to me. I covered him with kisses and tears. I tore at him with a joy and hatred so combined that I felt I had become the wild one. He just allowed me to grab at him. He said nothing and received my emotional pawing. He was back.
