What I Learn From My Cat

You’ve met Pixel. She’s an adorable, evil genius. This is the cat that can open the oven to get to the pizza. Be afraid.

She looks ready, doesn't she?

She looks ready, doesn’t she?

This is Mousie. All felt and innocence, with maybe a touch of catnip.

This is Mousie. All felt and innocence, with maybe a touch of catnip.

Meet Mousie. Seven-year-old Squish picked Mousie as a toy for Pixel. I didn’t think the cat would touch it with a 10-foot pole, but what do I know? Clearly nothing, because Pixel has a slight obsession with this toy. The cat with the work ethic of a salted slug is all about playing fetch with the mouse.  Or is she?

One day I watched Pixel flip and flop while she played with her toy, and I noticed something really odd. Let’s see if you notice it, too.  Click the first image to create a slideshow and read the captions. They’re the crux of this whole thing.

I couldn’t figure out what she was doing at first. She pawed and scratched at the glass like she was trying to tell me that Timmy fell down the well again. But Lassie she ain’t. You and I BOTH know she would leave Timmy in that well in a skinny minute if saving the kid  meant a long run up the hill to fetch Pa. I watched a little longer, and finally it dawned on me that what she was after was Mousie’s reflection in the back of the china cabinet.

Pixel spent a solid 10 minutes trying to get that imaginary mouse, to the point of kicking the real Mousie out of her way so she could put her best effort into getting to the one in the mirror. The one that isn’t real. The one that she will never be able to have, like Narcissus withering away longing for that beauty he can never possess.

I’ve said for a long time that this cat is almost human, and this incident kind of proves it. How often have we chased after imaginary greatness, ignoring the treasure we already possess?

This story has a happy ending. We discussed Pixel’s work ethic. 10 minutes of effort was all she had in her. She didn’t wither and die. She eventually forgot about reflection Mousie and went off to do what she does best – sleep.

So what imaginary mice are hiding in your mirror? And how do you let them go?

 

 

I Told You So

As my husband will attest, I am warm-natured. After nearly 20 years of marriage, we have yet to call a truce in the Fan Wars. If it’s 50 degrees outside, my bedroom window is open. A night at a sweltering 75 degrees is just miserable for everyone. Mostly because I whine a lot when I’m overheated. But women are perplexing creatures. *** I am a mystery inside an enigma, wrapped in 1000 percale sheets. Because regardless of the temperature, I cannot sleep without covers of some kind.

This habit is ingrained from my earliest years, as are most of my quirks. At some point, I came to believe that whatever is left uncovered is fair game for hungry monsters. Sometimes superstitions are simply relics of childhood. Sometimes they’re based on fact. Turns out, my conviction is true.

Two nights ago, I was awakened suddenly. Having broken my cardinal bedtime rule, I lay sheetless and exposed in the darkness. And I felt teeth in my bare feet. My heart lurched. Something is eating my feet! EATING MY FEET! All those years of carefully covering myself was not superstition at all! The monsters WILL get you if you aren’t careful! Goodbye, cruel world! I whispered my last will and testament to the universe. Then I recognized the identity of my assailant. It was this girl.

Yeah, she's cute when she's sleeping. Too bad she only does that about 15 minutes a night.

Yeah, she’s cute when she’s sleeping. Too bad she only does that about 15 minutes a night.

 

She started on my toes, then moved up to my ankle, then my calf. Finally I dumped her sad, sorry behind out of the bedroom and went back to bed feeling somewhat vindicated. “See, I told my sleeping husband (oh, he wasn’t really sleeping. It’s hard to sleep when your wife is flailing about like a goldfish on a dusty carpet. He was totally faking.) This is why I cover up. Things will eat me.”

The wily little minx slithered back into game-time central when I got up to go to the bathroom, and I was awakened a couple of hours later by a psychotic animal bicycling my head. Uncovered = eaten by monsters. The monster = Pixel = Pixel is a monster. It’s a good thing she’s cute.

Today’s my day off, and I’m going shopping. I wonder where I can find chain-mail sheets and a helmet.

 

***So are men, actually. Frankly, people are just weird.