Photo: L. Weikel

Words Matter                                  

I’ve written a lot about the importance of words. The impact words have on shaping our reality is huge and filled with responsibility.

Often we do not fully realize the power of our words until we witness first-hand how we often manifest, quite literally, usually, precisely what we tend to repeat over and over in our everyday conversations.

Anyone who’s spent any significant amount of time with me knows how I tend to pay attention to the words that come out of people’s mouths. Because I was taught manifestation techniques early on in my metaphysical studies (I’m talking back in the late 80’s here – yikes), I’ve tried to live my life with awareness of what comes out of my mouth.

Words Hold Power

As a result, we also taught our sons the power of words and encouraged them to take responsibility for what comes out of their mouths. And for the most part, they tend to be careful in the words they choose (OK, with maybe some profanity not getting ‘canceled,’ since, well… I don’t know. Bad example?)

But it wasn’t until our youngest son adopted a cat about four years ago that we all learned just how powerful names are, too.

While in college, Sage adopted a mature cat from an adoption agency associated with a local pet food and supply store. He immediately dubbed the cat “Wally,” after a friend’s cat he’d known who had a similar laid back attitude and luxuriously soft coat.

Wally was obviously pleased to have been liberated from his caged existence. He was always happy to see Sage when he’d get back from class, and he was a welcome addition to Sage’s life, for the most part.

But after a month or two, Wally seemed a little different than when he’d first been adopted. He became noticeably more shy. He would duck when anyone reached out to pet him, as if he might get hit. And while he was always glad when Sage returned to his room, he was starting to hide in places and not come out unless we went looking for him.

Within another month, Sage was frustrated and it was discovered by housekeeping that he was harboring a four-legged, which wasn’t exactly within the rules of the residence in which he was living.

Happy to Reclusive

“Mom?”

As soon as I heard the precise tone and inflection of that “Mom?” I knew I was going to be asked to cat-sit. Of course, I was right. Within days, Wally was delivered.

We all started giving Sage a hard time, because this cat was such an anti-social beast. Indeed he almost rivaled our psycho-kitty, Precious. But he didn’t howl or act bizarre. No, Wally simply hid. We teased Sage as to why in the world he picked him out to adopt. Sage swore he hadn’t acted like that when he’d visited the cat in the store several times before taking the plunge.

That may have been the case, but he wouldn’t come out from under beds. At all. He didn’t sleep with us. He never seemed to be in the same room as us. We didn’t even see him at mealtime. We knew he must be eating after our other cats ate their fill, but they weren’t fighting.  Wally was in full-blown avoidance mode.

Pleading with his eyes

When I would occasionally have a chance to talk to him one-on-one and pet him and scratch under his ears, I started noticing a really weird vibe from him when I would call him by his name; when I would coo “Sweet Wallys” in his ear. He looked like he was pleading with his eyes for me to figure something out. Something that would ease his pain.

I started mentioning to Karl (Sage was back at school by this time) that I felt like he didn’t like being called Wally. I told Karl the cat got a weird look in his eyes when I’d call him by that name.

(Karl gave me a weird look when I said this to him; so I was getting weird looks from everybody.) But still, weeks went by, and Wally was very seriously miserable and reclusive.

Eventually, it was time for us to take Wally in for his booster shots. Sage brought home Wally’s paperwork so I could provide his history to our vet. There, in the paperwork, I discovered Wally’s PRIOR name – the name he’d had when he was left at the shelter: Tigger.

Tigger it was!

I swear to you: as soon as I saw that name on his paperwork, I turned to the cat and asked him if that was his name. Tigger’s eyes lit up. His body language, which I’d not realized was the equivalent of hunched shoulders, immediately relaxed.

That cat morphed before my eyes into his true self: his Tigger self.

It turns out he’s extremely affectionate and wildly astute in understanding when you’re calling him by his correct name. He gained weight; his fur took on a sheen and softness that is irresistible. And he can now be anywhere in our house – and if I call his name, “Heeeeeeeere, Tiggety Tig!” he comes running. To me. A cat. Running to me when I call his name.

It’s been a long time now since he came to live with us. He’s part of the family now.

But one thing I can tell you is that he will always and forever love me like no other. Because I figured out how to call him by his ‘real’ name.

Names matter.

(T-905)