February Focus: Day Thirteen
1. Scratched-up Joyride
I’m home. I’m glad to be home. My vacation was perfect. I did everything I wanted to do, even things I didn’t want to, like inexplicably catch a cold. Oh well. It’s the least of my worries right now, and I have the scars to prove what’s on my mind the most.
Sadie (my cat) did fine on the car ride to the cabin. I was able to scoop her up and put her in the carrier with no effort. She whined in the car and immediately ran under a table when we arrived, hissing and mutter-growling every time I’d look at her. That was to be expected. But today was an entirely new set of steak knives that’s making me genuinely concerned for my future as a (cat) parent.
2. Horror at two-and-a-half feet
Cats are a lot smarter than people think. They sense things we don’t always. And sometime midmorning, Sadie knew it was time to go home. Only she wasn’t having it whatsoever. First she went under the bed and wasn’t coming out. She was hissing, spitting, and swiping at anything that came within a foot of her. So I had to try another approach. I covered up the table with my coat then used a broom to gently scoot her out. She didn’t get fooled by the coat and zoomed under it anyway. Thus began a good twenty-minute struggle of her snarling, scratching, biting, just generally beating the shit out of my hands (I was wearing winter gloves and my coat), shitting on the floor and knocking everything over until I was finally able to wrangle her and put her in the carrier.
I felt awful. I was crying. She was so miserable and traumatized from the ordeal. I cleaned everything up and figured I could clean her up later, as she was still growling mad, scratching at me from inside the net every time I’d go to pick it up. But I remembered what I shouted at her, praying she could somehow understand me, “You can hurt me all you want and you can hate me later, but I can’t just leave you here, so you’re coming with me!”
I felt like a disciplining mother who needed to get her child under control. Only this one comes with claws that could quite literally take an eye out if we’re not careful.
3. Mom is usually right
As we drove home, my hands sore from the bite marks, I tried taking my mind off of things by looking at the beautiful New York winter trees; the branches all hit with a fresh layer of snow, bending into an archway over the slick highway. I kept looking over at my little cat in her carrier, telling her we’d be home soon and to please not be mad at me. But no. She hates her mama right now. She flinches every time I make a move, her tail is tucked between her legs, she even mildly hissed when I extended a hand toward her. I’m just going to leave her alone until she’s not mad anymore, and I think this is the thing all (cat) mothers have to get used to.
There was a time when I was an angsty teen where I’d outwardly say I hated my mother. All because she was being a parent at me. She’d discipline me when necessary and give me rules and guidance for my still underdeveloped mind. And yet I thought I knew everything. I was sixteen, and why is my mother of all people giving me rules? I couldn’t stand her, but her resolve never faltered.
It was only after I went to college and I watched the movie Thirteen did I understand what an absolute terror I was being to her. I called her up immediately and told her I was sorry for everything I put her through and how appreciative I was to have her as my mother. Because all she ever did was done out of love for her daughter. She was only telling me these things because she loved me. She wasn’t trying to be mean. She had a parenting style that was unmatched, really, and a perfect blueprint for how I want to raise my kids. Maybe with just a touch less yelling. She had a loud voice. Still, it became apparent to me how sometimes it can feel like we’re hurting those we love the most, even when all we’re trying to do is get them home safely. I’m know I hurt my mom’s feelings, but her love for her baby never faltered.
4. The final band-aid
I’m not mad at Sadie. She reacted like an animal because she is one. It’s humans who can really cut deep. And I have to be ready for it when the time comes, especially if I have a daughter of my own one day.
Sadie is going to hate me for a bit, and I’m thinking the trauma of the car this time around may mean no more road trips. At least not for a long, long time. And not without some kind of natural cat sedative. My fingers are my livelihood. I can’t afford another dozen catbites.
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