Mimi and I are preparing for Oscar the Second to arrive. Well, in fact Mimi hasn't a clue that the little fellow will be entering and sharing her space within a couple of days. She stares out the window as she does every morning at dawn while I clickety clack away at the computer. She has had her five little treats atop the scratching post, a habit she and I have developed over these past five months since Oscar, her brother, died. She runs around chasing after a small, soft, rubber ball, or woolen toy mouse on her own, calling out for me to join her - or is it to announce her play? I keep thinking, 'Oh dear, she does so need a little kitty playmate." Frankly, I am unable to chase after those items and romp around with her. I am a sixty four-year-old woman, for goodness sake! She must be so bored with me.
I know I am.
And so, I adopted Oscar the Second. I found out about him from a Facebook friend, whose cat had birthed eight kittens about three months ago. I drove out to meet him, and he seemed to fit the bill. Strong, playful, and sweet. We have had to wait a couple of weeks while he became older and strong enough to undergo neutering surgery. And now, after recuperation, he is ready to join our family unit. Just two more days and he will be here. This past week, I have been talking to Mimi, explaining to her that Oscar the Second is due to arrive. She has sat as still as a sphinx while I washed blankets, cleaned out litter boxes, and rummaged around in the basement for small food and water bowls. I have discussed with her about how they might play together, even snuggle up on the couch, perhaps? She certainly seems to know that I am talking with her about these matters. Sometimes she chirps or meows in response. Or perhaps she just loves all the attention.
Oy! Attention! And here's the rub. Preparing blankets, buckets, and bowls is not going to be enough. Emotional preparation is what is needed here - for me, not Mimi. Mimi knows what to do: how to protect her turf, or roll about on the carpet with mouse and ball toys. She knows how to jump into the litter box and kick around the sand making it fly in the air only to land yards away from the box spreading out all over the floor. Then she adores chasing after the broom as I sweep it all up, running and tackling it as it swishes back and forth gathering up the pieces of litter from all ends of the basement. She is emotionally prepared.
It's me. Attention getting is an issue for me. Having never felt a priority, or mostly felt invisible as a child growing up in a house full of older, charismatic adults busy with their lives and not much time for me, I am constantly worried about children - or cats, in this instance - feeling lonely, abandoned or neglected emotionally. I can't seem to help it. These anxieties rise up and grab me with the slightest twitch of Mimi's eye, or murmuring meow. Indeed, I have never had to deal with sharing my love with my own children, having only had one son.
This is not new for me, understanding that "our own emotional development affects how we relate to ... children and families" - for I have addressed these issues in books I have authored, and prior blog posts. However, these past two nights I have found myself tossing and turning as the anxiety mounts. "How will I handle all those feelings of the two cats?" I ask myself as I lie awake, staring into the darkness. Today I realize, quite profoundly, that the question is rather: "How will I handle those feelings I have around attention getting, of abandonment, and neglect?"
What can I say? Challenging myself to understand and overcome ancient childhood wounds sounds doable these days. And what better way to go about it than with the companionship of Mimi and Oscar-the-Second?
Eight years ago at Tamarika: Never okay; & The blog ... my inner world
Comments