And Then Nobody Loved Me, Ever Again
The other day, upon walking into the living room, I spotted Dash under the console table in the hallway. There was only a few inches clearance for him to get under the table, so he was lying as flat as he could while peeking out with big eyes. He had the most definite pout on his face.
Kathy and I tried to coax him out, calling his name excitedly, telling him we loved him, and so on. His eyes just became sadder in response. If it is possible for a cat to emenate a "nobody loves me vibe," Dash most certainly did. It was evident that he had a full-blown story playing in his head, one that that somehow involved him being a poor pitiful kitten whom everyone had forgotten. Thus, of course, the need to hide under the furniture and mope.
I sat on the floor next to him and cupped my hand behind his head and neck, intending to gently scooting him forward. However, I couldn't, as his head fell against my hand and he meowed plaintively. He looked at me adoringly while he snuggled into my hand. "See, Alix loves me!" he seemed to say. "She came for me!" Only after a long while did he come out and go to find his brother.
As far as what this was all about, well, we're never going to guess what drama was locked in his little kitty-cat head. But observing him did lead me to reflect on how all of us carry personal stories with us, stories that can become activated by the smallest of incidents.
It's easy to see how silly these stories can be when you watch a cat or a child acting them out. As adults, we are often clear on how the stories of wee ones don't match reality. After all, we know better. Yet we are just as subject to playing out versions of reality that aren't...well, grounded in actual reality! We just don't think anyone knows better than us, so we don't listen to arguments.
I do this to myself all the time. I take a series of less than stellar photographs and I know I've lost my photographer mojo. A friend doesn't contact me for three weeks and I am sure I have become a pest to her. I fall behind on the housework and we will always live in a messy house because I am a lazy girl who has doomed us forever!
Yeah, right.
But what if we had an equivalent of a "human/adult" who could intervene? Someone to say, "Oh, honey, that's just not true! I don't know how you came up with that crazy story, you goofball, because you are a good photographer/beloved friend/productive girl. You just need a run around with a catnip mouse and you'll be back to normal."
Would we listen? Or would we, like Dash, wait for a rescuer who says, "You're right. You are a poor baby and I love you anyway!" Would we abandon the story then? Or would we come out of our story only when we were done playing it through? Food for thought...
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