Tomorrow is my birthday. I used to hate having a birthday so soon after Christmas because everyone is still broke from buying Christmas presents and half the time they forgot my birthday, intentionally I always suspected. But with age comes wisdom, so now I appreciate the fact that thanks to the deteriorating postal service I always get birthday presents – well, late Christmas presents, actually, but still.
This evening I was going to have pre-birthday cocktails with a good friend but she had to cancel – again! Sometimes I wonder whether I am too accommodating. Perhaps if I kicked up more of a fuss when I got stood up / disrespected / short-changed / etc etc people would stop doing it! As is usual on these occasions one generalises and remembers lots of other times when one has been slighted, and before one knows it one foams at the mouth and sharpens the corkscrew!
But well, there is so much rudeness and nastiness and unhappiness in the world that I haven’t the heart to add to it. I probably can’t stop other people from treating me badly on occasion, but at least I don’t have to retaliate. So I spent the time I might have used to nag / complain / think bitter thoughts to count my blessings and brain wash myself into thinking that most people are if not exactly good at least not irredeemably bad, either, and if I am patient and generous perhaps eventually I will be treated as I deserve, darn it!
It works with cats, anyway. It is almost four years since my beloved Mouser had to be put to sleep / was foully murdered, and I still miss him terribly. He was a stray, and it took a lot of patience and love to get him to trust me. As a matter of fact it also required innumerable packets of kitty treats, judiciously used to reward behaviours I wanted to encourage. It took four years just to get him to sit on my lap!
He was in many ways a difficult cat, because he was a grown up and never played or allowed me to take liberties. But he was a perfect gentleman, and never bit or scratched more than necessary to escape from an unwanted embrace. You know how it is sometimes, one comes home with the urge for love and approaches one’s partner with pursed lips. The Mouser would take one look at me and hide under the bed. If I sneaked up on him and grabbed and cuddled him, he would struggle until I released him and then sit near me at a distance close enough for a gentle pet but not near enough for a sudden grab attack. As though to say, ‘I like you well enough, but prefer affection in measured doses and on my terms, and thank you for respecting that.’
Ah well. We got quite pally in the end, he slept in my bed and I had to defend his territory from other cats, because epilepsy prevented him from doing so himself, and acquired the ability to hiss and snarl quite furiously.
I developed a cat allergy while we lived together so can never have another cat. But truly, I wouldn’t want one even if I could. The Mouser was everything I wanted from a cat, and getting another cat would feel disloyal and wrong. I still love him, so how could I possibly get another? Occasionally when I meet other cats I think about petting them, but just the thought makes me feel like a sort of prostitute and I can’t do it. I am kind of weird that way.
