Apprehension

Hard day's work, then sleep
Cats between and cats beside
Waiting for breakfast.



Addendum: Zeppo laying there, Eleanor stopped beside him, put her paw over his neck, then... licked his head. THEN bopped him, of course. It was still very sweet.


That Eleanor and Zeppo chase and playfight and seem comfortable close to each other pleases us so. He clearly watches and learns from her, and she's been demonstrating How-to-kill-a-mouse techniques on the furry-demo-mouses. It's a sort of Woodhouse aunt/nephew relationship, with mutual affection and annoyance. Not a perfect metaphor, similarities enough. Fagin and Artful Dodger? Yeah, a bit of that too. I could see Zeppo as a pickpocket, when caught he does immediately go to "I didn't do nuffin', gov! It wasn't me! I was never there!" He really is gorgeous and sleek, with a thin, long tail quite unlike Eleanor or Moby.

Eleanor is much more active now, more confidently sociable, approaches Dylan more. Gets less food, but it doesn't seem to bother her most of the time. We don't often have to feed her in her Private Dining Room, aka the top of the dryer in the laundry room, anymore. Zeppo is learning to give her a few inches to eat before he gets what she leaves behind, even when he's already eaten his own. He's a bottomless pit some days, supporting our younger age estimate of less than two years. Teenage cat.

Woke up thinking about gifts and Santa and what parents don't get thanked for.

Parents don't get thanked for doing the bare legal minimum. They had kids so they need to feed them, shelter them, educate them, and no debt is owed. Or they expect a lifetime of gratitude, that's called Loan Sharking, and it's manipulative.

Giving unsolicited help to the chosen victim and anticipating they 'll feel obliged to extend some reciprocal openness in return.

Unsolicited, I did not ask to be born, I had no choice to be their child, But Faaaaaammmily! is not a reason. They don't get thanked for not meeting the legal definitions of abuse and neglect.

Parents get thanked for the gifts that come randomly, generously, expecting nothing in return. So, as I lay under a cat, I tried to think of what I genuinely could thank my parents for, the times they didn't give me what they wanted, but what I wanted.

Surprisingly, the first thought was when my father found a broken abandoned bicycle in the alley, and got it to the guy down the way who fixed cars and bikes out of his garage, and did it all for me with no fuss. It was kind and thoughtful and not at all about him. He was actually a bit apologetic. He was a rich man trapped in a poor man's life*. And it was the scrounger in him that I actually liked, I think he hated that part of himself, but it was then he came across as most human and genuine.

I used that bike, never beautiful, it rattled, and kids teased me about it, and I loved it all the more. Not because my father gave it to me, but because it worked and got me around and was mine without guilt.

Strangely, my mother is harder. She did a lot for me, but there was always something about her gifts that demanded more than she gave. She resented giving me what I chose, and fudged a bit to make it more what she liked. The canopy bed being the big compromise. She made the spread and cover in colors she liked, dismissing my preferences as wrong. And I had to be just as grateful, more because she corrected my bad color choices, as well as for all the effort she put in. It felt at the time like my Big Gift had been ruined, and I couldn't say a word.

The last present she sent me, when I was in the army, was a beige sweatshirt with a big teddy bear appliqué across the chest. Something that I wouldn't even have liked as a teen or as a kid. It was a present that shouted "I have no clue who you are!" An un-gift, a bill due for the wrong item.

Like cheap chocolate covered cherries that taste of wax and disappointment. Or granny's chocolate covered marshmallow cookies with the fake red goo surprize that granny bought for me especially, that I ate because I was hungry, but hated. Not real chocolate, never liked marshmallow, the cookie was cardboard, and I have no idea what was going on with the goo, but I had to thank her. The butterscotch pie I actually liked, but because it came after the meal, and was very rich, I didn't eat much of, they scoffed, I was only being polite when I said I loved it, they didn't believe me. They were just no good at reading real appreciation vs fake politeness.

Really, I am working on it, trying to remember one time my mother gave me something genuine, without an emotional bill later. Bupkus. Nada. Maybe something will float to the surface?

The inheritance, maybe?

I'll stick to cats style. They are grateful, when they are genuinely grateful. And they don't seem to ever expect anything more than food, affection and company.

Dylan had the lamp put up when I got home last night. It's very nice.


*Better that way, he never had enough financial power to be a full blown asshole.