I’m still struggling with this need to be an adult, which is totally bizarre since I am 62 years old and have obviously been an adult for a long time.
I have some of it down pretty well. I can take care of other people. I know how to nurture. I’m naturally sympathetic. I’m even sympathetic to my cat who is currently sitting on my lap.
I like to think she sits here with me because of our mutual affection, although it is entirely possible she is motivated solely by the possibility of cat treats.
She gazes at me with her large liquid green eyes. Her vibrating purrs and warm weight convey love.
But maybe it is just hunger and greed.
My cat suffers from an addiction. If she could speak for herself I’m sure she would say, “My name is Poppi and I’m a treat-aholic.”
The two of us are sharing a fraught moment since she is sitting on my lap longingly thinking of treats and I have a dish of ice cream for myself.
I allow myself this ice cream tonight because I have already laid out my running clothes for the morning.
My cat is not impressed.
“Just because your clothes are ready for morning exercise does not mean you will actually engage in morning exercise and we both know that.” She blinks in my direction. “Putting your shorts and tee shirt on the chair does not mean you get to eat ice cream tonight.”
I stroke her head in response. “But the guilt from tonight’s ice cream assures that I will run in the morning.”
Poppi the cat makes a few leisurely turns on my lap and seemingly by chance ends up sitting with her back to me.
Is it really by chance?
I don’t think so.
While I’m debating this issue my ice cream is melting. I better eat it before it goes to waste, although even melted I’m unlikely to let it just rest uneaten in the bowl.
I promise my cat I will run and she flicks her ear in doubt.
I promise I will give her treats before bedtime and she turns her loving liquid eyes back in my direction once more.
I know how to take care of my cat.
It is taking care of myself that is the real challenge.