Smitten
This is a confession. I have to face facts and stand in judgment. Please be merciful for I have become that which I once held in ridicule. That most tiresome and clueless imposer of …. things about my cat.
Thus far (for the most part), I have resisted, while in a constant stream of unrestrained pet joy, the impulses to post photos of my cat doing cute things… this essay being the exception that proves the rule of course. I can still recall the tut, tut, tut judgment (mine included) of all those subjected to a dizzying array of cats doing this and cats doing that. This has given me the brake, which thus far has tamed my wildly beating breast.
But make no mistake. What I am not posting I am nonetheless constantly calling out in utter delirium to anyone who happens to be nearby: Look! Look! Look! Look! Isn’t she cuuuute?? Look at how she curls her little paw! Look at how she rolls over when she wants to play! Isn’t it adorable how she pounces on her toy! Listen to that cute little questioning chirp that sounds like “Huh?”
My family and best friend have thus borne the brunt of my giddy outbursts. I have to gush somewhere. It is a constant struggle to zip it, and most days I just give in. After all, they’re my inner circle, right? They have to listen.
Yes, I am smitten. With a creature who has done nothing to warrant my devotion but be cute and utterly dependent on me, though she tries to feign otherwise. How did this happen?
I think it’s a parental thing. My theory: it’s the unconditional love, the spoiling, the besotted pride of the parent for his or her infant. Even though my cat technically is no longer a kitten, she will always be my baby. Her need of me stirs that instinct, that crazy love. What else could explain why I refer to myself as “Mommy” when I talk to her? (Yikes!)
My cat, my Esme, a tortoiseshell, mixed- breed rescue (Can you see how she is part Oriental?? Look at that bone structure! Do you see her grace?), struts around in importance and yet starts at the slightest sudden noise, looking to me for reassurance. She instantly relaxes her tightly coiled body at my calm and loving energy directed at her: yes, my love, everything is okay, you are safe. No matter how merely tolerant she tries to seem of my petting, we both know she’d be lost without me. Hardly a trip to the bathroom goes by without her mewing pitifully at my closed door. Never a night goes by without her curled up on my bed. And when she has lost the trail of me in our house, suddenly unsure of where I am, calling out in a desperate wail, and I respond with a loud and cheerful call, never a time goes by where she does not bound to where I am, trilling in excitement, relief and happiness. Who wouldn’t melt?
But maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s that a cat is an uncomplicated, indeed primal being (waaay more primal than a dog, as any cat owner knows!), who responds to a person’s most elemental essence. Esme loves me like my children did before they lost blind faith in me, before I didn’t handle something well, before we had to navigate complex situations. It feels good and is easy to tell myself that Esme is a barometer of my most basic goodness.
This feline carnivorous prowler that slinks around my house, that grabs her scratching posts (and occasionally the furniture) with sharp claws and sometimes her teeth, this actual creature in my house that looks like a giant rat from the back when she is sitting and a strange monkey when she balances up on her hind legs begging for a treat, brings me the joy of her attachment and complete trust. Not a lap cat at all, and completely disinterested, if not affirmatively abhorrent of being held, Esme’s idea of showing her positive assessment of me is to allow me to provide her the pleasure of having her neck massaged. Not for more than a minute, mind you, which, is all I need, so we both win.
So, now, I am much more inclined to view pet photos online with a generous heart. For what are they but sweet celebration of an uncomplicated relationship, a perpetual two-way street of positive regard. Pet pictures are happy declarations that we get to adore a simple companion, who will not one day talk back to us or make choices that challenge our peace of mind. They express our delight in being trusted by a primitive beast whose fight or flight system has adjudged us as benevolent.
Still, I’ll try to keep my cat pics to a minimum. But oh, oh, oh! Did I tell you about the time she dragged her wand toy up to my bedside as I was settling down for the night, and then mewed at me to play with her? Isn’t that a-DOR-able?
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Smitten is the perfect title for a post about your kitten 😉 and I smiled the entire way through.
Gush on.
signed,
Your BFF unless Esme boots me.
Never!