Does Nature Find its Way?

This morning, as I was rushing to leave the house to get to work, I had to make sure that CockEye, a new stray cat, who comes around on a regular basis, was fed. I like to see him eating on the back porch, to know he's fed while my husband and I are gone for the day, that way I'll know he's alright. The only problem is that now there's another stray cat we named Fancy because of his yellow blonde hair, whose very male and aggressive in his own way. Fancy was also waiting to be fed and wouldn't leave his new territory. It was 8:15 and I have to be on the 8:20 train in order to make it to work on time. I held, what I felt, was my own negotiation with them. I politely chased Fancy away and saw CockEye on the other side of the fence waiting to climb over. I waived to him, as if he understood what that meant, to signal that its okay. It was 8:17 now and I had to go. I took one look out of the window, and I saw Fancy in the back of the yard and CockEye was now on the back porch enjoying his breakfast. As I walked to the train, I realized that my interaction had little to nothing to do with these cats living on their own terms. Instead, I liken it to nature. Nature finds a way (I sound like Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park) and works itself out.

Two weeks ago, my husband, Kyle and I, had to put down our beloved Frank, our original stray. Frank came to live with us indoors, a year ago, after his partner named Claire passed away in the neighbors yard. Frank didn't have his protection anymore and he was getting older and weaker and needed our help. I still think it was our gift that he trusted us enough to come inside and be with us. We watched him learn how to use a liter box, which he never perfected, always sticking three paws in and peeing right outside of the metallic box. We didn't care though, and I told him ‘good job’ every time he tried. Frank never experienced human touch, so we had to take care of him from a distance. Sitting in his Amazon box on top of a blanket, Frank kept us company and each night, we kept a light on for him in case he wanted to roam and explore.

For years, I wondered, what is going to happen with Frank? How do we get him to stay inside? Will he trust us enough? Then, once he was in, I thought about what we would do when he gets sick. Do we take him to a vet and how? When he dies, are we going to watch him from a distance? On a Thursday evening, after not eating for days and unable to keep water down, we decided it was time. I emailed a vet service who euthanizes pets at home and the next day, he was gone.

All of this sounds very sad and somber, but I find it amazing, and I don't want to lose the memory of what happened. Right before the first of two shots was administered to help Frank transition, he became quite feral again and tried climbing on Kyle's wall of tiki mugs to get away. The skilled, angel-esque vet was able to stick Frank in his side and he quickly fell into a sleepy slumber, on a row of tiki mugs. The vet picked him up and handed him to me, and I held him for the first time. He felt so light, as he was just skin and bones, and I laid him across my lap as the vet said, "Goodnight Frank," and he passed away, in my arms. It was the first and only time I held him, and I was so grateful he died in my arms. It felt like the impossible happened, and I want to remember that the best case scenario is possible. It may not always happen, but it is a possibility.

Nature will find its way, but I can't always leave it up to nature. There has to be effort. Still I wonder, how much effort is enough? It's a question I struggle to answer. How much do we need to push and how much do we need to let go? After all, nature finds its way.

Every day, I think, we push ourselves in different ways. We try and make relationships work, some may endlessly climb a professional ladder, and some, myself included, take control of our creativity. One of my favorite things to do is to collaborate. I believe that's where the answers are, pushing and melding two minds together. I think about my own projects and specifically, an upcoming project that I'm very proud of, that I'm sure I'll get the jitters about when presenting it when the time comes (in 3 .5 months but whose counting).

I think about the traditional ways of doing things, of how to get a writing or art project lifted from the ground and into the public eye. I could do query letters and submissions and hope for the best. But what does that mean and entail? What does it mean for Gay and Queer and Trans people at this time? Do we always have to go through a third party in order to gain permission and acceptance? And now, with this motherfucker back in office, this weak man, this wanna-be dictator, trying to control the arts and the money that is flushed into them, now what do we do?

We do it ourselves. After all, nature finds a way.

I don't want to go through an artsy imprint of Penguin to get something made. And if you look hard enough, most of what we see is an imprint from a Big 5 publisher. I don't want my content, featuring stark truths and erect penises to be judged from some straight person and deemed if it's sellable enough. It doesn't seem right, at this point, to be waiting for anyone's approval, especially from someone who doesn’t understand.

And so, we take back our own control. My question though, is when to let go? When is it enough? When is it good enough and complete by my own standards? That's for me and each individual artist to answer. I've reached that point, when it's full enough, rounded enough, scary enough, good enough. Then, that finishing point, well, a whole other act needs to take place. The act of letting go. My mom, whose advice, you can say varies in its impact, has always told me that I have a hard time letting go and trusting. And I think what I need to remember, is that nature, again, always finds its way. And maybe, the best outcome is possible.