Coming Home to Yourself: What Two Feral Cats Taught Me About Sovereignty and Expansion

Some beings do not announce themselves loudly.

They sit in the main space.
Rocking gently.
Seemingly reading.
Quiet.

But they are not disconnected.

They are aware of everything — the conversations, the subtle shifts in energy, what is spoken, what is not.

And sometimes, the world misunderstands that kind of presence.

I was thinking about that the week one of the feral cats changed her pattern with me.

For several assignments in a row, she had been the one who came close.
She would sit beside me.
She wouldn’t eat until I pet her — until she felt that bridge between us.

At first, I saw it simply as connection.

But over time, I began to see another layer.

Touch first.
Then permission.
Then she would eat.

It became a small ritual — a task completed before nourishment could happen.

And in another season of my life, I lived that pattern too.

Do enough.
Prove enough.
Show up enough.
Then maybe you are worthy of being loved.

It wasn’t weakness.
It was attunement shaped by survival.

Then one week, she hid.

Inside her small house in the backyard.
Aware.
Present.
But choosing not to step forward.

In an earlier version of myself, I might have tried to coax her out.
I might have wondered what I had done wrong.
I might have tried to restore the old rhythm.

Instead, I sat.

Steady.

And in that stillness, something began to reorganize — not just in her, but in me.

Backyards here in Arizona are surrounded by walls.

They create privacy.
Containment.
A sense of separation from being on display.

As I looked at her small shelter tucked back there, I realized she wasn’t disappearing.

She wasn’t protecting herself from something outside.

She was anchoring herself from within.

She was becoming internally sovereign — contained within her own energy.

There is a difference between hiding and holding your energy.

Between withdrawing and choosing sovereignty.

Not every quiet being needs to become louder.
Not every vibrant being needs to soften their shine.

Growth isn’t about changing temperament.
It’s about becoming more fully yourself.

For two days, she remained in that contained space.

On the third day — the day of the Lunar New Year — she stepped out.

That same week, something inside me had clicked into place.

And from that day forward, she met me at the front of the house.

Not asking for touch.
Not requiring reassurance.

Just present.
Visible.
Meeting me without conditions.

“Sovereignty and expansion can coexist.”

I thought that was the lesson.

But then something unexpected happened.

There was another feral cat — a newer one I had first met in November.

If you’ve ever worked with feral cats, you know most keep their distance. They observe. They move cautiously. Trust unfolds slowly.

She had been somewhat that way too — aware, open and measured.

So when I stepped out of my vehicle on my final visit and heard someone calling, it stopped me.

It took me a moment to locate her.

She was racing down the street from another direction — calling out, running straight toward me before I even reached the house.

Full voice.
Full presence.
Full choice.

It wasn’t tentative.
It wasn’t typical feral behavior.

It was intentional.

She didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t wait for me to approach.

She ran toward connection.

And what struck me later was this:

It didn’t feel like she was running toward me.

It felt like she was running toward something steady.

Something grounded.
Something already at home within itself.

And that excited race — that joyful urgency — felt like a mirror.

Like coming home to yourself
and not holding back.

“It didn’t feel like she was running toward me. It felt like she was running toward something steady.”

Between the quiet one in the backyard and the bold one running down the street, I could see the full spectrum.

There was a time when I needed touch to feel seen.

Needed reassurance.
Needed confirmation.

She used to need that too.

But the week she stepped out of the backyard and met me at the front of the house without asking for touch, something shifted.

She no longer required the task.

She no longer needed the proof.

She simply met me.

Present.
Whole.
Internally sovereign.

And I realized that I am learning the same.

I can be seen, heard, understood, and loved
without performing first.

Connection does not disappear when proving stops.

It becomes cleaner.
It becomes choice.

The backyard walls are still there.
The shelter still exists.

But stepping forward becomes a decision — not a requirement.

You can grow without abandoning your boundaries.
You can hold your energy without hiding.
You can expand without performing.
You can be loved without earning it.

Sovereignty and expansion can coexist.

And sometimes, the most powerful step forward
is simply meeting at the front of the house —

steady, sovereign, and fully yourself.

Coming home to yourself isn’t a 360° reinvention. It’s a return to who you were before you thought you had to earn love.