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Cat Therapy

Over the years I've heard of or sampled a lot of different therapies, e.g. EST, cognitive, psychoanalysis,  group. And since I've always had a bunch of dogs slobbering over me, I'm what you might call a master at pet therapy. The dogs were always there eyeing me suspiciously when I did my tearful act or climbed into bed and said  "to hell with the world." They understood what I was going through, at least I thought so. And just knowing that they were picking up on my sad depressive vibes gave me a little more courage to abbreviate the "down" time and move on to if not happy periods, at least to that status quo where you're not contemplating jumping off the nearest bridge or drowning yourself in the bathtub.  They kept me somewhat stable.

I thought I knew everything about pet therapy until I got two cats. I only wanted one ginger cat, the boy-cat with the wily body who looked to me like a fun-loving feline. But I got waylaid by the Queen of the Cat Adoption. This blonde caretaker had to have a high tolerance for clutter and odor, I thought. She must also have a high tolerance for well-meaning misfits like me who need a pet like kids need their blankie.

Estelle--let's call her that since I plucked that name from my subconscious just this moment and don't have any idea where I got the moniker. Perhaps from some fairytale? More like a program I watched on Netflix. When we visited Estelle at her Arizona "shelter," she had about 40 cats in her house, and she was no hoarder. The cats were all healthy, cared for and having fun. But somehow I got talked into adopting two cats instead of one.  I'm easily influenced by anyone standing next to me, so that's how it happened. Plus the Queen was two parts intimidation, two parts authoritarian, and one part "you got to help me out here, lady." She told me the two cats were both kittens, not the baby kitty kind, but young adolescents. I wasn't sure she was telling the whole truth and nothing  but the truth, but I overlooked the age thing. After all, kitties separated by a few months in age isn't a big thing. It's not like one was a grade ahead in school, and the other was lagging behind. But what really convinced me to adopt two bundles of ginger joy was the Queen's protestation that the male cat would be freaked out if he didn't have a "leader." It seemed, according to the Queen, that the male cat was a nebbish who only acted like a normal cat when his "mentor" stood by, telling him what to do or not to do. It figured that I was attracted to a nebbish, which in yiddish translates to dork.

To make a long story short, I now have Tootsie and Toodles, and they put the lie to the misleading expression that less is more. In their case, more is more. I've never seen two animals cavort as much as these two. Even my puppies took long naps and weren't always available for therapeutic interventions, but these cats go at it 24/7. Feeling like you've had a long week of Mondays? Just wander into the kitchen and watch the cats weave in and out of the cabinets. Yes, they shop for stuff. I don't know if they're trying to whip up a birthday cake for one of my neighbors (maybe it's payment to the Queen for  receiving the "get out of jail" card, a bribe of sorts), but they seem to be following some kind of a recipe for joyfulness. You hear a thump, thump, and a little paw wiggles itself out of a medium brown-colored wood cabinet and then the lithe body dashes into another cupboard. Sometimes the two kitties www.google.comalmost collide in mid air, but since there's no traffic controller available, they just have to crash land or toss off an insincere "sorry buddy" of a meow.

Anyway I've noticed that my general mood is more upbeat now that the cats have joined our dysfunctional family. They don't cuddle with me in bed, and I really would like that, but they gaze up at me with these intelligent yellowish eyes that spit out the message, "I care about you, you stupid human." I think I've seen the play "Cats" too much--I'm reading a little too much into their stares, but they're my cats and I can put whatever words I want into their  tiny mouths. Right?

Comments

Janice Arenofsky said…
I think this is a wonderful story, and David Sedaris would be proud of my spelling.
March 20, 2018 at 9:42 AM
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