Theme
4:45pm April 20, 2013
Fey is snuggled up to my arm (The weird mark on my arm is the remnants of a blown vein from the hospital.) And I’m trying to think of a way to persuade her that she isn’t the only person who takes care of me. People think it is just a joke, when I say that she sees herself as my mother, and me as a huge, stupid kitten that she loves with everything in her. Except its true. That is how she sees me. And she thinks she has to protect me. She doesn’t understand that lots of other people protect me. That lots of other people care about me and take care of me. She thinks she has to do it all herself. And she drives herself crazy from anxiety all the time about how she is going to help me. And if she can’t help me at all, like when I am in the hospital, she completely loses it until she can. And it’s not good for her to think like this. She needs to be able to relax. I’ve told her over and over again that she doesn’t have to do this, that she needs to calm down a bit and stop freaking out because I have tons of other people in my life who love me and take care of me and protect me. And that one cat can’t do all of these things forever. I know she thinks about what will happen when she dies. I don’t know how I know. But she does. Like all mothers do. I worry that if there’s some kind of afterlife she might resist going because she wanted to stay and take care of me, and that would be horrible for her, and less effective for her purpose of helping me, than allowing herself to become part of everything the way she should. And somehow before she dies I need to convince her it’s okay to leave me. People think animals don’t know about death but that’s completely stupid. They know. She knows. I can see her thinking about it sometimes. Don’t ask how. I don’t understand how cats communicate these things, but they do, and she does, and I can see it. Sometimes I can see the worry written all over her body and I just want to hold her and tell her everything will be okay whether she’s here or not. This is totally different than what I mean when I say she looks old, though. When she looks old, I mean she looks deep, the way some people become deepened with every year of their lives. She’s one of those people and her age shines out of her in a. Beautiful way sometimes. I try to convey my respect sometimes by calling her Grandma Fey. I thought her aging would terrify me, but it only fills me with wonder. Anyway. Both for her sake now and in the future, somehow I have to convince this cat that my fate isn’t on her shoulders alone. She takes too much on as her sole duty alone. And it fills her with stress and worry that she doesn’t need. She’s overly responsible when it comes to me. Again, I don’t fully know how all this is communicated. It seems to be written all over her sometimes. Cats are like that. They have all these layers of meaning that change and shift with their thoughts and mood, and if you can read at least some of those layers, which many people never know to learn or never bother to learn, then you can see a lot about them. That’s how a whole lot of feline communication works, and to them it’s perfectly ordinary. I just never want to see her again so worn out and exhausted with anxiety that she flops down on the floor instead of eating her food. And I don’t want her worrying about her big stupid kitten so much that she fears dying – or moving on after death, if that’s how things work – entirely for that reason. And it’s painful to watch her worry every single day since I’ve been home from the hospital. When I go to the hospital I am more concerned about her than me, because she gets scared that I won’t come home, and she lives with that terror every single day I’m in there. And it’s hard to explain things to a cat. They may communicate certain things very well. But it is hard, very hard, to say certain things to them. I try mostly to think about those things and let the thoughts sort of flow into my body language so she can read them from my body. But even then. How do you tell someone who’s been taking care of you for most of their near 14 years, that their drive to take care of you is… sort of overly driven? That’s hard even to tell humans, let alone cats with the big language and cognitive differences. It’s not that they’re unable to comprehend these sorts of ideas – mothers of any species that cares for their young, feel this way and think about these things. It’s that for cats, thinking and communicating is somewhat different than for humans. And bridging that species barrier can be difficult for anyone, regardless of now good they are at communication with cats in general. And I want her to feel better. All mothers worry, but some mothers worry too much. And she worries too much. She doesn’t understand that this job isn’t entirely hers and hers alone. That other people will protect me, other people will take care of me, other people are already doing these things, she’s got plenty of backup. Maybe it comes from her earliest years with me. When it was us and us alone, with only one other person helping me on a daily basis – but only from afar. When she learned quickly how to get me moving if I couldn’t move, how to watch over me during a seizure, how to make sure I didn’t overexert myself. And all sorts of other things that put her more in the role of mother than baby even though she was basically still a kitten. (And that qualified her as an assistance animal.) People call her my baby but she is more like my mother. I seem to have three different people in my life who’ve taken on a maternal role – my real mom, Fey, and webmuskie. And Fey takes that role quite seriously. The problem is she takes it too seriously. And that’s not good for either her or me. How does a big stupid kitten convince a real cat that she doesn’t need to put herself in such an intensely responsible position? I still don’t know the answer, but I have to figure it out.

Fey is snuggled up to my arm (The weird mark on my arm is the remnants of a blown vein from the hospital.)

And I’m trying to think of a way to persuade her that she isn’t the only person who takes care of me.

People think it is just a joke, when I say that she sees herself as my mother, and me as a huge, stupid kitten that she loves with everything in her.

Except its true. That is how she sees me. And she thinks she has to protect me. She doesn’t understand that lots of other people protect me. That lots of other people care about me and take care of me. She thinks she has to do it all herself. And she drives herself crazy from anxiety all the time about how she is going to help me. And if she can’t help me at all, like when I am in the hospital, she completely loses it until she can.

And it’s not good for her to think like this. She needs to be able to relax. I’ve told her over and over again that she doesn’t have to do this, that she needs to calm down a bit and stop freaking out because I have tons of other people in my life who love me and take care of me and protect me. And that one cat can’t do all of these things forever.

I know she thinks about what will happen when she dies. I don’t know how I know. But she does. Like all mothers do. I worry that if there’s some kind of afterlife she might resist going because she wanted to stay and take care of me, and that would be horrible for her, and less effective for her purpose of helping me, than allowing herself to become part of everything the way she should. And somehow before she dies I need to convince her it’s okay to leave me.

People think animals don’t know about death but that’s completely stupid. They know. She knows. I can see her thinking about it sometimes. Don’t ask how. I don’t understand how cats communicate these things, but they do, and she does, and I can see it. Sometimes I can see the worry written all over her body and I just want to hold her and tell her everything will be okay whether she’s here or not.

This is totally different than what I mean when I say she looks old, though. When she looks old, I mean she looks deep, the way some people become deepened with every year of their lives. She’s one of those people and her age shines out of her in a. Beautiful way sometimes. I try to convey my respect sometimes by calling her Grandma Fey. I thought her aging would terrify me, but it only fills me with wonder.

Anyway. Both for her sake now and in the future, somehow I have to convince this cat that my fate isn’t on her shoulders alone. She takes too much on as her sole duty alone. And it fills her with stress and worry that she doesn’t need. She’s overly responsible when it comes to me.

Again, I don’t fully know how all this is communicated. It seems to be written all over her sometimes. Cats are like that. They have all these layers of meaning that change and shift with their thoughts and mood, and if you can read at least some of those layers, which many people never know to learn or never bother to learn, then you can see a lot about them. That’s how a whole lot of feline communication works, and to them it’s perfectly ordinary.

I just never want to see her again so worn out and exhausted with anxiety that she flops down on the floor instead of eating her food. And I don’t want her worrying about her big stupid kitten so much that she fears dying – or moving on after death, if that’s how things work – entirely for that reason. And it’s painful to watch her worry every single day since I’ve been home from the hospital. When I go to the hospital I am more concerned about her than me, because she gets scared that I won’t come home, and she lives with that terror every single day I’m in there.

And it’s hard to explain things to a cat. They may communicate certain things very well. But it is hard, very hard, to say certain things to them. I try mostly to think about those things and let the thoughts sort of flow into my body language so she can read them from my body. But even then. How do you tell someone who’s been taking care of you for most of their near 14 years, that their drive to take care of you is… sort of overly driven? That’s hard even to tell humans, let alone cats with the big language and cognitive differences. It’s not that they’re unable to comprehend these sorts of ideas – mothers of any species that cares for their young, feel this way and think about these things. It’s that for cats, thinking and communicating is somewhat different than for humans. And bridging that species barrier can be difficult for anyone, regardless of now good they are at communication with cats in general.

And I want her to feel better. All mothers worry, but some mothers worry too much. And she worries too much. She doesn’t understand that this job isn’t entirely hers and hers alone. That other people will protect me, other people will take care of me, other people are already doing these things, she’s got plenty of backup.

Maybe it comes from her earliest years with me. When it was us and us alone, with only one other person helping me on a daily basis – but only from afar. When she learned quickly how to get me moving if I couldn’t move, how to watch over me during a seizure, how to make sure I didn’t overexert myself. And all sorts of other things that put her more in the role of mother than baby even though she was basically still a kitten. (And that qualified her as an assistance animal.) People call her my baby but she is more like my mother. I seem to have three different people in my life who’ve taken on a maternal role – my real mom, Fey, and webmuskie.

And Fey takes that role quite seriously. The problem is she takes it too seriously. And that’s not good for either her or me. How does a big stupid kitten convince a real cat that she doesn’t need to put herself in such an intensely responsible position? I still don’t know the answer, but I have to figure it out.