I really love animals. My cat is my little soul mate. He's not

Hear, O children of tenderness, the words of Tracey Emin, who confessed with unguarded heart: “I really love animals. My cat is my little soul mate. He’s not just a cat, he’s my friend.” Do not take these words lightly, for though they seem simple, they speak of the eternal bond between human and creature, a bond that has walked with us since the dawn of firelight and the first hearth. Here is no mere affection for a beast, but recognition of a sacred kinship, where an animal ceases to be a possession and becomes instead a friend, a companion of the soul.

For what is a soul mate, if not one who mirrors our spirit, comforts our sorrow, and delights in our joy without condition? Many seek such kinship among men and women, and often it is found. Yet sometimes it is in the silent gaze of a cat, the loyal watch of a dog, or the gentle song of a bird that the human heart finds its truest reflection. The ancients themselves knew this: Egyptians revered the cat, not only for its grace but for its mystery, believing it to be a bridge between the divine and the mortal. To call an animal a soul mate is to honor the unseen bond that transcends language, custom, and species.

History bears witness to such bonds. Consider the tale of Greyfriars Bobby, the loyal dog of Edinburgh, who kept watch over his master’s grave for fourteen long years. In the eyes of the world, he was “just a dog,” yet his vigil told a story of friendship and devotion that no human tongue could surpass. Was he not in truth a friend, a guardian of love beyond death? Just as Emin sees her cat not as a mere creature but as a companion of spirit, so too does Bobby’s tale remind us that animals enter the deepest chambers of the human heart.

Think also of Florence Nightingale, who in her long years of service found solace not only in her mission but in her beloved pet owl, Athena. She carried the small bird with her as a source of comfort in the darkest hours of war and illness. To others it was strange, but to her, it was strength. This too reflects Emin’s words: animals are not simply beasts that live beside us, but allies who help us endure, who soften the burden of our labor and sorrow.

Thus the meaning of the saying becomes clear: to love animals is to recognize the unity of all living things, to humble ourselves and confess that wisdom, loyalty, and love are not the property of humankind alone. The cat who curls at your side, the dog who greets you at the door, the horse who bears you across the fields—these are not servants, but companions. In their gaze, free from judgment, lies the reminder that love does not always speak in words.

The lesson for us is simple yet profound: treat the animals in your life not as objects, but as friends. Honor their needs, respect their spirit, and cherish the moments of silent communion they offer. Do not dismiss their affection as lesser than human love, for often it is purer, untainted by ambition or deceit. And when loss comes—as it must—remember that grief is not shameful, for it proves the depth of the bond that was shared.

Practically, let each one who hears this teaching act with kindness: feed the stray rather than cast it aside, give time to the pet who waits for you, and in your heart acknowledge their place as fellow travelers on the path of life. Share your joy with them, lean on them in sorrow, and in so doing, you will come to know the truth of Emin’s words: that in an animal’s companionship, one may find not only comfort, but a soul mate.

Carry this wisdom into every day: that friendship is not bound by flesh, by race, by nation, nor even by species. To love animals is to recognize that life itself is a great kinship, and in this kinship, even the smallest creature may be the guardian of your soul.

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