Loving Something Wild

A few years ago, we adopted two female kittens from the Humane Society.

Freya—our Frey Frey—and Phloogie.

The girls hadn't received much handling at the shelter, so they weren't the cuddly, snuggly kind of cats. They were independent from the very beginning. Pets were accepted on their terms, and being picked up was usually met with a quick escape.

Tippy and Momma had always been indoor-outdoor cats, so when the girls were old enough, I found myself facing a difficult decision.

Do I keep them safely inside?

Or do I let them experience the life they seemed to be asking for?

I chose freedom.

I called them my adventure cats.

They raced up towering fir trees, darted through the gardens, hid in the tall grass waiting to ambush one another, and chased butterflies as though nothing else in the world mattered. I loved sitting in the garden simply watching them be cats.

But if I'm honest, there was always another feeling sitting beside that joy.

Fear.

Every time they disappeared into the trees, I imagined an eagle.

Every time I heard crows making a commotion, I wondered if a hawk was nearby.

I was constantly waiting for my worst fear to come true.

One evening I was leaving the house and called for Frey Frey to come inside.

She walked right up to me, looked me straight in the eyes with that mischievous little expression she always had, and then turned around and ran away.

I laughed.

"Okay, sassy girl. You can come in when I get home."

That was the last time I ever saw her.

We searched.

We called.

We waited.

She never came home.

Heartbroken, I looked at Phloogie and told her she was now an indoor cat because I simply couldn't survive losing another one.

Two weeks later, while we had a house sitter, a door was accidentally left open.

Phloogie slipped outside.

I never saw her again.

Knowing what I know now through animal communication, I believe she went to be with her sister.

For a long time, I questioned my decision. I wondered if I had failed them somehow.

Today, I see it differently.

I know the girls loved every moment of their adventures.

I know they were exactly who they came here to be.

And I know they are still very much a part of my life. They now help me connect with animals in Spirit, reminding me that love doesn't end when a body does. It simply changes form.

What Freya and Phloogie Taught Me

The girls taught me that love and control are not the same thing.

Could I have kept them inside forever?

Yes.

Would they have been physically safer?

Perhaps.

But every time I imagine someone locking me inside a house for the rest of my life because they were afraid of losing me, something inside me says that isn't love.

Love isn't about preventing every possible heartbreak.

It's about honoring another soul for who they truly are.

For years, I also believed my worrying somehow made my fears come true.

Now I see that worry didn't protect them, and it didn't cause what happened either.

It simply stole some of the joy that was available while they were here.

If I had one wish, it wouldn't be that I worried more.

It would be that I worried less.

That I spent even more time delighting in watching them race through the gardens, climb another tree, and live the life they came here to live.

Sometimes our greatest act of love is allowing another being to become fully themselves, even when that path carries risks.

You May Be Wondering...

Do you think cats should be indoor or outdoor?

I don't believe there's one answer that's right for every family or every cat.

Each animal is an individual with their own personality, needs, and circumstances. Every family must make the decision that feels most loving and responsible for them.

This story isn't meant to convince you one way or the other.

It's simply the story of two little adventure cats who changed my understanding of love, freedom, and trust.

I miss Freya and Phloogie every day.

And I wouldn't trade the joy of watching them fully alive for a life lived in fear.

May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.