What My Cat Taught Me About Stewardship
My cat Pippi had a spring ritual.
Every year when we opened our summer home after the winter, she insisted on conducting a full inspection.
Not of the yard.
Not of the exterior.
The cupboards.
😂
Every cupboard.
Every closet.
Every bathroom cabinet.
Every hidden corner.
The moment I opened a door, she would appear.
Serious.
Focused.
Determined.
As if she had been waiting all winter for this assignment.
I used to think she was looking for mice.
Now I’m not so sure.
The Official Inspection
The routine never changed.
I would arrive at the summer home after months away.
The windows would be opened.
The air would begin moving.
And Pippi would begin her rounds.
Cupboard.
Closet.
Cupboard.
Closet.
Bathroom.
Bedroom.
Hallway.
Nothing escaped inspection.
She approached every space as if she had a responsibility to it.
As though the house had been entrusted to her care.
Stewardship Is Different Than Ownership
For years I thought stewardship meant responsibility.
Now I think it means attention.
Ownership says:
This belongs to me.
Stewardship says:
This has been entrusted to my care.
They’re very different energies.
Ownership often accumulates.
Stewardship observes.
Ownership asks:
What do I have?
Stewardship asks:
What needs attention?
This Year Was Different
This spring was the first year I opened the summer home without Pippi.
She had been unwell for some time before she passed.
Her annual inspection was no longer available.
So I found myself doing it alone.
Or so I thought.
As I opened cupboards and closets, I started seeing things differently.
Not because the cupboards had changed.
Because I had.
The Tired Cupboards
What I noticed surprised me.
The cupboards weren’t dirty.
Not really.
They were tired.
The shelves needed washing.
The paint was worn.
Some interiors needed fresh lining.
Others needed a fresh coat of paint.
The structures themselves were perfectly fine.
But they felt neglected.
Not abused.
Not broken.
Neglected.
And there’s a difference.
The Energy Of Neglect
One of the things I’ve learned over the years is that neglect has an energy.
A room can have it.
A relationship can have it.
A business can have it.
A dream can have it.
A body can have it.
Things don’t usually fall apart overnight.
They slowly stop receiving attention.
Then one day we look at them and wonder what happened.
Nothing happened.
Attention left.
The Restoration Process
When I work on a cupboard, I have a ritual.
First comes the incense.
Not because I think smoke magically fixes things.
Because it signals the beginning of relationship.
Then comes the cleaning.
The washing.
The scrubbing.
The removing of what no longer belongs.
Then comes the paint.
The fresh start.
The restoration.
And something fascinating happens.
The cupboard begins feeling different.
Brighter.
Lighter.
More welcoming.
Not because it became something new.
Because it remembered itself.
Healing Works The Same Way
People often imagine healing as some dramatic transformation.
A complete reinvention.
A total rebirth.
Most of the healing I’ve witnessed doesn’t look like that.
It looks more like restoring a cupboard.
Cleaning.
Repairing.
Refreshing.
Removing what no longer belongs.
Until the original beauty starts showing itself again.
The person was never broken.
The paint was peeling.
Walking Between Worlds
This is one of the reasons I believe healing is healing, no matter where you find it.
Whether you’re restoring:
A cupboard.
A relationship.
A nervous system.
A business.
A home.
A dream.
The principles remain the same.
Attention.
Circulation.
Stewardship.
Energy management.
Things thrive when they’re cared for.
Things decline when they’re ignored.
Pippi’s Secret
Looking back, I don’t think Pippi was checking for mice.
At least not entirely.
I think she was teaching stewardship.
Every spring she reminded me to look.
Not assume.
Not ignore.
Look.
Pay attention.
Open the doors.
See what’s there.
Notice what needs care.
The older I get, the more I think this might be one of the most important spiritual practices there is.
Not manifesting.
Not predicting the future.
Not controlling outcomes.
Simply paying attention.
The Cupboards Inside Us
We all have cupboards.
Places we’ve stopped looking.
Memories we’ve stopped opening.
Dreams we’ve forgotten.
Parts of ourselves we’ve placed on a shelf and ignored.
Sometimes healing begins with something incredibly simple.
Open the door.
Look inside.
Notice what needs attention.
Notice what deserves care.
Notice what deserves restoration.
The act itself is transformative.
The Real Lesson
I thought Pippi was inspecting the summer home.
Now I think she was teaching me how to tend one.
And perhaps that’s what stewardship really is.
Not perfection.
Not control.
Not management.
Attention.
Love.
Presence.
The willingness to keep opening the cupboards.
Year after year.
And caring for what you find inside.
Thank you for reading.
I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
What cupboard in your life has been quietly waiting for your attention?
