Staying when it’s difficult, to be a constant, & quiet presence

Hi there, I’m Aarti, Founder and Lead Psychotherapist at Incontact. A warm welcome to the 6th edition of 1-1-2 Inspire! Whether you’re an existing reader or new to the newsletter, I’m so glad you’re here. I hope to keep bringing you stories and tiny rituals to brighten up your week. These days, I’m loving the book, A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman. It’s amazing how one book can be a source of so many inspirations. Enjoy the read. ❤️

Grumpy old Ove didn’t like the cat. 🐈 It was scruffy, half-starved, and had the kind of fur that seemed to magnetise filth. To Ove, the cat was just one more thing that didn’t belong in his neatly ordered world. But the thing about cats is that they don’t care much about what you think of them. They show up, uninvited, and stay.

The first time Ove saw it, the creature was shivering under a neighbor’s car. Winter was biting, and the snow layered everything like an icy blanket. Ove didn’t care for the cat’s miserable state. He didn’t have time for strays.

But then, something peculiar happened. The cat began following him. Everywhere.

One snowy afternoon, Ove noticed the cat from his yard, sitting in the distance, watching him. It looked pitiful. Weak.

Ove stared back and muttered, “If you think I’m feeding you, you’ve got another thing coming.”

He went back inside. Slammed the door. Took a sip of his coffee.

But the cat stayed.

That night, as Ove lay in his quiet home, the memories of Sonja, his dead wife filled the silence. Memories of her laughter, her warmth, her unbearable optimism. She had loved animals, especially cats. “They find the loneliest people and make a home with them,” she once said, stroking a kitten they’d come across on a walk.

Ove closed his eyes, fighting the sting of grief. “Stupid cat,” he muttered to the emptiness.

By morning, the cat was still there, its body curled into a ball against the cold.

Ove opened the door. Without fully understanding why, Ove went back inside and returned with a saucer of milk. He shoved it toward the creature. “Don’t get used to this,” he grumbled.

The cat drank slowly, eyeing Ove between gulps as if trying to decide whether he could be trusted.

From that day forward, the cat didn’t leave. And, though Ove would never admit it, he stopped trying to make it.

It didn’t try to fix him. It didn’t demand anything except the occasional meal. It simply existed alongside him, unbothered by his moods and indifference.

One day, as Ove sat on his porch with the cat on his lap, stroking its fur absentmindedly, he found himself speaking aloud. Telling it about Sonja. About how she’d made everything brighter. About how the world seemed unbearably dull without her. The cat blinked lazily, its warm body leaning into his.

And, in its quiet way, the cat listened.

Ove didn’t realize it yet, but the cat was saving him.

It wasn’t about the milk or the company or even the quiet companionship. It was about the fact that the cat refused to leave, no matter how cold or uninviting the world became.

Sometimes, healing begins with something—or someone—that simply refuses to give up on you.

Think of one person who might need a little support or companionship right now.

Check in with them, even if it’s just a message or a brief visit. Sometimes, simply showing up makes all the difference.

When a friend or loved one is struggling, don’t feel the need to solve their problems. Just sit with them, listen, or be there in silence.

Your presence can be the greatest comfort.