No fences

Hawk has been coming out when we're at home more and more. Cautious and curious, peeking around corners and observing all that goes on in our little home. He reminds me of the farm pets I had as a kid. We had a great big yard but also dangerous roads, so we had to let our animals know just how far was ok, and when it was too far. So every pet went through boundary testing, learning where their invisible fence was (or not so invisible when it came to the horses, they had the electric fence), and just how they could go before getting stopped for their own safety. Once they learned that, they were free to run and play and frolic in their space, with the assurance that it was safe.

And our little shadowman is doing his own searching for a fence. Wanting to know just how far he can take this little world he's carving out. And the wonderful thing, the miraculous thing, is that so far, every time he has pushed out on his own terms to see if he hits that fence, he doesn't find it, and realizes that his world is bigger and his safety net is still there.



I heard some commotion downstairs one evening when I was in the house by myself and I quietly crept down the stairs (I'm learning where the quietest parts of the stairway are for maximum sneakupability) with my camera and sat at the base of the stairs. In a few seconds, Hawk poked his head around the corner, watched me and promptly sat down on the ground and relaxed. So I did the same. I moved off the stairs to the basement hallway and sat against the wall snapping pictures of Hawk. He sat, not just comfortably but almost aloof like any other cat would. Soon Bandit wandered in and the three of us had some quiet bonding time as we watched each other, talked and listened. Bandit sat in one doorway, Hawk in the other and it was mesmerizing to watch Hawk as he observed Bandit, as if taking notes on how to be a pudgy playful kitten again.

Keep pushing, Hawk. There's no fences here.