I usually just have one cat. It is difficult, but I have my one

Gina Gershon speaks with gentle affection when she says: “I usually just have one cat. It is difficult, but I have my one cat that he’ll travel with me if it’s appropriate, if I’m not going overseas.” These words, though humble in form, carry the weight of a timeless truth: the bond between living beings is a source of strength, even in the midst of difficulty. In her reflection on a single cat, she reminds us of loyalty, companionship, and the way even small presences become anchors in the storm of life.

The mention of her solitary cat is not trivial. In the world of the ancients, the cat was revered as a guardian of the hearth, a symbol of grace, mystery, and protection. The Egyptians enshrined them as divine companions, believing they carried both comfort and power into the home. Gershon’s words carry that same reverence—her single companion is not many, not a multitude, but one, treasured and trusted. It is through the one that love becomes profound, through the small that the eternal is revealed.

She admits that it is difficult. And indeed, all bonds require sacrifice. To care for another, even a creature as self-sufficient as a cat, demands responsibility, patience, and endurance. Yet in this admission lies the beauty of love: though burdens weigh upon the shoulders, the heart deems them worthy. To bring the cat along on her travels is not convenience, but devotion, a reminder that companionship often asks us to shape our lives with care and consideration.

The idea of traveling with such a companion speaks also to constancy amidst change. The roads of life are uncertain; the cities differ, the languages shift, the faces are unfamiliar. Yet in the company of her cat, Gershon carries with her a piece of home, a piece of stillness, a living thread of continuity. This echoes the ancient practice of wanderers who carried tokens or relics from their homes—charms, heirlooms, or sacred animals—to remain tied to their identity as they walked into the unknown.

History itself offers examples of such devotion. Consider Alexander the Great and his horse, Bucephalus. Though not a cat, this companion traveled with him across continents, through deserts and over mountains, a symbol of loyalty and constancy. When Bucephalus died, Alexander wept as for a brother, and built a city in his honor. Gershon’s words echo this spirit: the journey is long, but the presence of a beloved companion makes the road bearable, even noble.

Her quote also speaks of limits—“if I’m not going overseas.” Here, we learn that love, though boundless in spirit, must also bow to practicality. There are times when the companion cannot join, when the traveler must go alone, when circumstances dictate separation. And yet, even then, the bond endures. The cat remains a symbol of loyalty, awaiting her return, much like the hearth that welcomes the weary pilgrim back from distant lands.

The lesson for us is profound: cherish your companions, even if they are but one. Value quality above quantity, loyalty above multitude. Whether a cat, a friend, or a loved one, the presence of one trusted soul is greater than the noise of many shallow ties. Carry them with you when you can, and when you cannot, hold them in your heart as you walk your path. For it is in the faithful presence of the few that we find the strength to endure the many trials of life.

Practical wisdom follows: nurture the bonds you have, even if they are small. Do not despise the single companion for the lack of many. In your travels, whether across oceans or through the quiet struggles of daily life, let loyalty, care, and love shape your journey. For like Gershon, you will find that even one faithful cat, one true companion, is enough to transform the road from a place of loneliness into a path of belonging.