However unlikely it may seem, this creative outlet might be for you. I would have laughed if you told me I’d become a writer. It was as unexpected as the feral tuxedo cat that turned my life upside down some years ago. Like him, writing chose me. But that’s the thing about life’s greatest gifts: they choose us, not the other way around.
I didn’t know I wanted or needed him until he crept into my life. Being the softy I am, I put food out daily in the wooden shelter my husband built to keep him warm and dry in the rainy winter months. He was wild, darting off when I peeked through the kitchen window as he came for his food. This was our relationship for a few years, only glimpses of a black shadow that thanked me for my kindness with dirty bedding and empty bowls.
One day, I saw him sleeping in the shelter as I was about to put his food out. A part of his back was sticking out of the entrance with his black coat glistening in the sun. Approaching, I saw he wasn’t moving. My heart stopped. I had grown fond of him, even in our long-distance relationship. I stroked him carefully to check for movement, but still nothing. I felt apprehensive to open the top part of the shelter since I could never get this close to him. Sadly, I realized he was alive but barely conscious.
We rushed to the vet and he recovered in the hospital for over two weeks. He became tame with the friendly staff handling him. I visited him daily bringing special food because he wouldn’t eat at first. All tests showed nothing wrong. Later, a call from the vet revealed he was diabetic. Mystery solved, they asked if we would take him because he couldn’t go to the shelter and be rehomed.
Taking him in was a big commitment. Being diabetic meant insulin shots twice a day, which constrained our schedule, special food, and a strict diet. On top of this, he was a wild cat and not house-trained, which was a headache. But how could we say no? He chose us, a fancy-dressed free-spirited feline with piercing green eyes. We named him Sully, short for Sullivan. It wasn’t easy; we had two dogs and three other cats, creating a heated political environment with constant protests against the newcomer and everyone fighting for their spot.
With a quiet but powerful disposition, he became the boss of the house and our hearts. He followed us everywhere, traveled with us on trips, and waited at the front door when we got home.
He always seemed cool, calm, and collected, even when shamefully rejected by our tabby cat Misty, who made it her mission to avoid Sully by staying in one room for eight months. But he was tenacious; he won her over and all the other animals too. He never gave up approaching, cooing, and trying to engage and be playful with them. He calmly stared at them as they hissed and growled, unfazed by their performances. Finally, she gave up her protest and they started hanging out on the same couch or in the same sunspot.
He taught me routine, patience, persistence, commitment, and unconditional love. Above all, he taught me to never give up. He was a wonderful companion and I am honored to have been his chosen person for seven years.
Writing found me unexpectedly, just like Sully crept into my life. I approached it cautiously, much like those early days of leaving food for a feral cat. I dabbled, never getting too close, never thinking it was something I could truly embrace. It was new, and new things are scary.
Circumstances pushed me into it. We needed written content for our businesses and I don’t shy away from a challenge. In facing my fears and self-doubt, I found a love I never considered. That’s why I say I did not choose it, but it chose me. And like Sully, writing became a delightful companion that changed me in many ways.
I had to tame and train it by learning and growing in this new skill, and not to be phased by failures. Starting, writing was elusive and sporadic, I waited for the ‘feeling’ before I could write. I had to push through and found that on the other side of this was a steady flow that I could tap into whenever I needed to.
Sully required patience and daily commitment, as does writing. It is a therapeutic practice to purge jumbled thoughts. Sometimes the tangled strings turn into something useful and pretty. Deep thinkers with many thoughts need to straighten them out often. It takes commitment to write daily, not just when you feel like it.
Now, writing shelters my busy mind, providing an outlet for my thoughts to form and become something valuable. Tiny bits of value can be added in small ways. Sharing my experiences and lessons through writing is a privilege, adding something good and positive for readers.
I write wherever I go. It follows me around like Sully did and I tell it everything, good and bad. In tough times, writing helped me keep it together and to fall apart. In happy moments, it’s there to perfectly preserve the special times so I can revisit memories as if they happened yesterday. It gives me a voice, puts words to emotions and brings ideas to life.
Give writing a chance. I was as unequipped to write as to care for a diabetic animal. But I trusted my instincts and jumped in anyway, and kept going because I loved it. There’s a wonderful excitement when I sit in front of a blank page; the possibilities are endless. What used to be scary transformed into something essential, just like the dark shadow outside my window became a treasured friend.
Don’t wait to acquire skills first — just start and learn as you go. A thought that held me back in life was having to be qualified for something first. It’s great to educate yourself, and I encourage that but don’t sell yourself short. Do it for love and enjoyment, and it will grow into something lovely and unexpected. It may lead to an adventure, like my relationship with Sully and writing.
Sometimes the most profound changes in our lives come not from what we choose, but from what chooses us. Your next adventure might already be calling, like a feral cat waiting in a wooden shelter, or a blank page waiting to be filled. Will you be brave enough to answer?
