If you have ever rescued an animal, you know it is never really you doing the rescuing. Somehow, without warning, they end up rescuing parts of you too. That is exactly what happened with Dila, my little feral kitten with the wounded eye, the fragile body, and the spirit of someone who has already lived a thousand lives.
Dila came into my life through my son. He found her in El Paso, tiny, injured, and fighting to survive among a pack of outdoor cats. Her eye had been scratched badly. She had ear mites. A severe skin allergy. Mange. The kind of list that makes you wonder how such a small creature could endure so much at once. And still, she fought.
When my son sent me the video of her on the Ring camera, something inside me cracked open. Because there she was: this little cat who looked different from the group, who might be shunned or abandoned because of it. A cat who was trying to balance feral instincts with the desire to be touched, cared for, and safe.
A cat who had every reason to run, yet still wanted to belong.
If that is not me, I don’t know what is.
I was born with a lazy eye. I know what it feels like to have a face that people stare at. I know what it feels like to be misjudged before you even speak. I know what it feels like to grow up aware that you look “different,” even when you’re just trying to exist.
So when I saw Dila, I didn’t see a stray.
I saw my younger self.
I saw the parts of me that felt out of place.
I saw the girl who always felt like she had to prove she belonged.
From that moment, I knew we had to save her.
When my son rescued her, I made time to drive back home because I knew she needed more than food and shelter. She needed care. She needed treatment. She needed someone who understood that healing takes patience, softness, and fight.
The wild thing is that even though I am trying so hard to keep her alive, she still battles me every step of the way. She wants to lick her wounds. Scratch her healing skin. Do things the way her instincts tell her to, even though it makes everything harder. And honestly? That is me too.
I know what it feels like to self-sabotage in the name of comfort.
To cling to old habits even when they hurt.
To want freedom even when I’m not ready for it.
To fight the very things that are trying to heal me.
Dila is a familiar not just because she is a cat I love, but because she mirrors my spirit.
She is me, and she is not me.
She needs me, and in a strange way, I need her too.
Little by little, we have been treating each issue. Disinfecting wounds. Treating the mange. Handling the allergy flare-ups. Eliminating the ear mites. And once she stabilizes, we can finally do the surgery on her eye. That surgery feels symbolic too — a reminder that the things that make us different do not make us unworthy of love or survival.
I cannot wait for the day when Dila feels strong enough to walk around the house like she owns it. I cannot wait for her to play with Octavia. I cannot wait for her to feel what it is like to be safe.
I cannot wait for her to know she belongs.
Because she does.
And so do I.
And so do you.
Familiar energy is real. Sometimes it looks like a black cat with bright eyes. Sometimes it looks like a stray kitten who refuses to give up. Sometimes it looks like a reflection of the parts of you that needed love long before you ever realized it.
Dila is my familiar because she is a reminder that growth takes time. Healing takes patience. And even those of us who seem hard on the outside can be tender and gooey in the center.
I am rooting for her healing.
And for my own.
And if you are reading this, I am rooting for yours too.
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