Esme & the kitten

This kitten was supposed to be mine. Trifle is stunningly beautiful, fluffy, her colouring a mix of smokey grey and peach. She has enormous paws and startling yellow eyes. She holds her own amongst children, other cats and the occasional visiting dog. She is feisty, courageous and playful, everything I ever wished for in a cat.

I just assumed that she would understand that she was mine, so I suppose I didn’t spell it out to her.

Trifle has lived with us for three months and is completely and absolutely besotted with Esme, our foster daughter. This won’t mean much to people who don’t know Esme, but to our family it is a constant daily surprise. Esme has a severe attachment disorder, suffers with PTSD and is in almost total emotional shutdown. This has been the case for the last six years. Esme finds touch of any sort tricky to handle, doesn’t enjoy eye contact and makes herself deliberately unbearable to be around – becoming noisy, rude and punchy. People are initially confused by her then they tend to withdraw from her. She is able to maintain this wonderful isolation which, in her head, keeps her safe. We have learnt to love her from a distance, to be inventive and creative and sneaky in demonstrating to her how much she means to us.

Then Trifle arrived. The love-bombing started quite soon. Esme would sit down at the table to read to me – something she hates doing – and Trifle would come and sit on the book. Then she would start tapping Esme’s hand, then she would put her front feet on Esme’s shoulder and start gently licking her cheek. Esme was initially annoyed. I was jealous – Trifle treated me like dirt, stalking past me and ignoring my affectionate approaches.

Reading time became a juggling act, with me trying to field Trifle’s attentions so that Esme could stumble through a couple of pages. Trifle was not to be distracted though – she always gravitated back to this little girl and almost forced herself upon her, even when Esme was pushing her away repeatedly and shouting in her face. It didn’t seem to matter. Trifle would reappear, purring and mewing to Esme, desperate to get onto her lap, to stare into here eyes and knead her legs.

Then things ramped up a bit – Trifle would try and sneak into Esme’s room at bedtime. My husband and I would do an 11pm sweep of the children’s rooms and find Trifle curled up around Esme’s head, purring into her pillow. She started waiting for Esme outside the toilet, calling for her to open the door, jumping onto her lap at mealtimes, trying to follow her down the road to school.

We were all flummoxed…..we still are. I think Trifle can somehow sense the need in Esme, and she is determined to fill it. As humans, we sometimes feel like giving up when this child throws our love and emotion back in our faces….when she turns away from our kisses, won’t return our hugs, appears cold and unfeeling. There’s only so much rejection we can take before our barriers have to come up, to protect our own sanity. Over the years that we have cared for Esme, I have tortured myself because my relationship with her has been so lacking in warmth and openness – from her side. I had resigned myself to it always being this way, and had accepted that this was all Esme could handle at the present time.

Now Trifle is having an un-looked for effect on Esme. Daily love bombing is wearing down her defences. As often as Esme pushes Trifle away, Trifle comes back, not appearing to take the rejection personally. Esme ignores Trifle – Trifle simply climbs a bit higher up her chest and nestles into her neck. Esme tries to push Trifle away – Trifle purrs louder than ever and closes her eyes in Zen happiness, refusing to be moved.

Finally, Esme has given up and given in. She sits down on the sofa to watch TV and Trifle immediately hops onto her lap, gazing lovingly into her eyes. Esme allows Trifle to sit at her feet while she cleans her teeth, chirping to her at reassuring intervals. Esme shyly tells me that she thinks Trifle loves her the most out of all the family, and I have to agree. The annoyance has gone, and there is a small kernel of pride inside Esme – an acknowledgement that she can inspire such devotion. And, amazingly, a growing acceptance of the love being showered on her, unconditionally, every day, by this kitten.

OK, she can’t see that my husband and I have been trying to shower her with love for the past six years, that we have wept and sighed and ranted and worried about her and over her for most of that time. That’s too much for Esme to handle or accept at the moment, but yesterday as I watched her gently holding Trifle on her lap, cradling her like a baby, I had real hope for the future.

I think we’ll get there, with Trifle showing Esme the way.

 

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Esme & the kitten

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