Raised By Wolv.., Uh, Cats

Part of the process of coming to terms with the odditiy of my childhood family is finding new understanding of situations and events. It's a freeing process if not always comfortable.

Because the behaviour of people was not always predictable my understanding of people is far from ideal. My understanding of cat behaviour, however, is extensive. Cats were predictable. I could count on the reaction of a cat if I petted it, or fed it, or if it fell into the tub where I was bathing. Cats didn't strike out for no apparent reason. If a cat was aggressive, I could always find a good reason. They had times they wanted to be alone and times when they wanted attention. Cats have good boundaries. If they don't want something, they're not shy about it. Unlike people, with cats I'm comfortable.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there have been two cats I couldn't befriend. One was a friend's pet who fought with things that weren't there and obviously had a mental impairment. She was a unique cat, special in her own way. The other was a kitten born to one of our cats. This kitten was different from all the others in the litter. It never wanted any contact with other cats or humans. It was almost as if it was born feral.

So now I understand why my feline friends have been so precious to me. They were the only living beings in my household that made sense. It explains, too, why losing them saddens me so, whereas losing my parents has/does not. To my feline friends, now long gone, who helped me keep my sanity, I owe you more love and thanks than I can ever hope to repay to your kind. I'll still keep trying though, one scritch, one catnip ball at a time.

I acknowledge that I obsess on the death of my n-father. Today is no different. It's made worse by the expected news that our beloved elderly cat will not live much longer.

I can't shake the thought that when she dies, I will be profoundly effected. She's been my dear friend for many years. She's given me immeasurable joy, happiness and unconditional love. Having her in my life has made my life so much better. I'm brought to tears just thinking of her dying. Yet, I have absolutely no problems with my feelings toward my feline friend dying.

Where I run into trouble, of course, is the feelings toward my dead n-father and the knowledge that some day my mother will die. I've never experienced sadness over my n-father's death. I'm not numb or in denial. My life is better without having to deal with him. At best, I feel ambivalent. Regarding my mother, I am not currently in contact with her. I have no plans to change that. I may never know when she dies and I'm OK with that. In a way I'd prefer not to know so I don't have to deal with the same feelings of ambivalence that I have with my n-father's death. Yet, I would be able to breathe more freely knowing that there would be no surprise telephone call or ring at the doorbell.

Simply put, I'm bothered that I grieve the death of a cat more than the death of my parents. There, I've said it. Yet, I can name the logical reasons: she's been my friend; her presence has made my life better; I will miss her; to my parents, at best, I was an appendage, and not always a convenient one. This "knowledge" doesn't help, though.

I don't know how to reconcile this. "Shoulds" don't help me any more than logic. I'm missing a piece to this puzzle. I think I'll go look under the pile of laundry on the laundry room floor. Maybe it's hiding under there.

Permission to Say "No"

As a way of saying thank you for help with the last days of my father's life, my mother offered my spouse and I a night out with another couple. She had a voucher for a free dinner for four at a posh restaurant in a nearby town. As a newly widowed woman with no friends she had no way to use it. She would be the childcare for our children and those of the other couple. This was after showing my kids a movie I'd specifically told her I didn't want them to see. Beyond having her watch our children being unacceptable, I didn't want to go. I hadn't seen the other couple in nearly a decade and the whole getting back in touch thing just was too stressful considering all the other stuff going on at the time. I knew I would stress for weeks beforehand and wind up a stressed-out mess even before we all crawled into the same car for an hour drive to the restaurant. Unfortunately she first offered it to my spouse who accepted the offer without talking to me about it. Ooops.

So, I took the bold step of calling her. I NEVER call anyone. I hate telephones and avoid them at all costs. I thanked her for her nice offer and did my best to gracefully decline. I attempted to explain it would be very stressful, but she would have none of it: it was already arranged; what would she tell the other couple? I hadn't anticipated her reaction, silly me, but I was proud that I was able to maintain composure. I apologised for the trouble caused by our decline. I suggested she tell the other couple that we wouldn't be able to make it, but that she'd still very much like them to go anyway. But she was already in a fluster and would have none of it: my not wanting to go was silly; this wasn't something stressful just dinner; etc. After more apologies on my part yet remaining firm on the decline the phone call ended unpleasantly. I don't remember whether she hung-up on me, a not uncommon occurrence, but I do remember being entirely puzzled. In order to thank me for my help, she was insisting I do something I did not want to do. A fascinating strategy, no?

That wasn't the last phone call on the subject, though. Oh, no. She called twice more to tell me how difficult I had made this whole thing for her. She had no idea how she was going to tell the other couple that we weren't going. Both calls ended with her self-pity turning to anger and threats of telling the people that I didn't want to have anything to do with them.

I don't suppose there is a reason why the sound of a ringing phone seems foreboding?

I don't suppose there is a reason why it's difficult for me to say "no"?

Do I Know You?

A dear friend said this to me years ago. Apparently I'd "disappeared". Rather than disappearing, I saw it as leaving her alone or letting her get on with her life. Keeping in touch is a foreign thing.

Recently I moved close to grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. I did let them know I was nearby and that my address was temporary. I just never let them know when I moved into my permanent address. It's partly intentional and partly not.

Announcing that I'd moved nearby felt strange enough, I can't imagine writing or calling and saying I was coming for a visit. It seems like such an imposition.

Come to think of it, the whole idea of keeping in touch seems like an imposition. Phoning people seems like an intrusion. In truth, people phoning me can feel very much like an intrusion. I expect to be asked to do something without the option of saying no without much emotional pain and guilt trips. This brings me back up to keeping in touch being a foreign thing. Keeping in touch means obligation and loss of personal choice.

Loss of personal choice is a rat's nest, a tangled mess that I've yet to completely unravel. Personal choice implies there's a person involved. I'm still learning to be a person and all that that means.