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My Watcher
Just some thoughts running through my head this morning.
The Care and Feeding of Your Human
I find myself the sole recipient of my cat's love and attention. He sleeps on my side of the bed, leaving an entire side cold. He greets me as I wake, ready to butt his head against me in eager greeting. He sits with me as I wake, patiently offering his company as my mind struggles to focus. He watches me as my mind finally kick starts and allows me to start getting ready for my day.
He follows me upstairs like a lost little kitten, when I first venture upstairs to start my day. He takes his seat by my usual chair at the kitchen table as I make my breakfast. When I eat my meal at the table, he ignores his own hunger in favor of curling around my feet. When I'm done, he waits with all the graciousness a cat is capable of while I attend to his needs and set out his food and water for him. He is content in the knowledge of my habits. He is fed after I am. He trusts me.
Having both our hungers sated, he follows me to my desk. He helps me get situated, sitting at my feet watching me carefully as I perform any number of daily tasks. Right about the time my phone rings to alert me that it's time to finish getting ready for work, he gets up and makes himself comfortable in his chair in the living room. He remains there as I prepare to leave for the day. He sleepily watches me as I gather my bag and coat. He acknowledges my rub to his head as I pass him on the way out the door with a simple flick of his tail. He never seems to care one way or another that I'm leaving. He knows I'll come back.
At work I tend to compartmentalize. I find I cannot make it through my day with thoughts gnawing at my gut in desperate hunger. I cannot tend to the needs of fragile children if my only thought is of the man who broke my heart, leaving me to wonder for the thousandth time what I did wrong this time to make yet another one leave me. It's odd you know, how little goes through my mind while I am working. I listen to my co-worker as she regales me with tales of her love, life, and sorrows. I distract her with laughter, never comparing myself unless the situation warrants it. After all, I must have a story to match her every tale. It's what I do. Often enough they don't notice when my words never answer their questions.
Most of my other co-workers only greet me in passing, an acknowledgment of respect to a comrade in arms. At the end of the day, they offer me casual waves and bid me to convey well wishes to my husband. They don't know he's gone. They don't know that their ignorance stabs me in the gut with twisting pain at the ironic significance of that thought. I always give them a hesitant smile respond with, "If I see him, I sure will." They smile absently and nod as they leave, once again content to move on with their own lives. It's why I shove my depression into a small black box. I don't see any reason to burden their already heavy lives with my woes too.
Sometimes I'm afraid of what answers I'll get back if I tell them my husband left me like so many others before him. I can only imagine their shocked and pitiful faces if I were to tell them of his casual disregard he has had for me throughout our lives together. They do not know that he treats me with the same respect as he would for them. They do not know the pain it causes me to realize that. Sometimes it's better to just leave well enough alone. I don't bring the key to unlocking that little black box while I'm working. It's best for all of us that I don't.
On the way home my husband calls me with another excuse to assuage his guilt. He comes over to tell me of his new life, gather some forgotten belonging, or to help with some chores. He looks at me with a keen eye and asks if I'm alright. I take a deep breath and look at him with hollow eyes and an almost genuine smile and tell him, "Yes, I'm just fine." He furrows his brow for a moment, but then shrugs and lets the matter drop. I don't think he really wants to know my true thoughts. He won't ever hear what I wish to tell him, "No, I'm not okay. You ripped out my heart. You fought to make me give up my inherent distrust of people. I pushed aside my fears as I watched you distance yourself. I struggled not to break as your coldness towards me reminded me of your past affairs. I conceded defeat and made the choice to trust you. Like a warrior smug in knowing the battle was won, you left me in the ruins of our life in the battlefield. So no, I'm not anywhere close to okay."
I'm sure if he looks close enough he can see the pain flash through my eyes. But by the time the thought passes, he's already looked away. Everyone has already looked away. Except, of course, for my cat who has focused entirely on me during those painful exchanges. He often ignores my husband as he checks to see if he is missed. He merely watches with casual disdain from his chair until the insignificant human has left. He waits patiently until I've had my dinner. He watches me as I wind down in front of the television.
He finally deigns to leave his chair at bedtime. He comes looking for attention. He will pester me for cuddles and pets until I give in and let him lead the way to bed. He waits for me curled up on my pillow while I get ready for bed. When I come in, he sleepily watches me as I feed the fish and plug in my phone to recharge. I cover him with the blankets as I turn them down. It's his sign to move to the end of the bed. I can finally rest my weary body, often reading for a time, with a cat at my feet. When I turn off the light to shut out another day, he remains curled up at my feet ready to protect me should an army of mutant dust bunnies attack me in the night. He is, after all, my very own protector who always watches over me.
The Care and Feeding of Your Human
I find myself the sole recipient of my cat's love and attention. He sleeps on my side of the bed, leaving an entire side cold. He greets me as I wake, ready to butt his head against me in eager greeting. He sits with me as I wake, patiently offering his company as my mind struggles to focus. He watches me as my mind finally kick starts and allows me to start getting ready for my day.
He follows me upstairs like a lost little kitten, when I first venture upstairs to start my day. He takes his seat by my usual chair at the kitchen table as I make my breakfast. When I eat my meal at the table, he ignores his own hunger in favor of curling around my feet. When I'm done, he waits with all the graciousness a cat is capable of while I attend to his needs and set out his food and water for him. He is content in the knowledge of my habits. He is fed after I am. He trusts me.
Having both our hungers sated, he follows me to my desk. He helps me get situated, sitting at my feet watching me carefully as I perform any number of daily tasks. Right about the time my phone rings to alert me that it's time to finish getting ready for work, he gets up and makes himself comfortable in his chair in the living room. He remains there as I prepare to leave for the day. He sleepily watches me as I gather my bag and coat. He acknowledges my rub to his head as I pass him on the way out the door with a simple flick of his tail. He never seems to care one way or another that I'm leaving. He knows I'll come back.
At work I tend to compartmentalize. I find I cannot make it through my day with thoughts gnawing at my gut in desperate hunger. I cannot tend to the needs of fragile children if my only thought is of the man who broke my heart, leaving me to wonder for the thousandth time what I did wrong this time to make yet another one leave me. It's odd you know, how little goes through my mind while I am working. I listen to my co-worker as she regales me with tales of her love, life, and sorrows. I distract her with laughter, never comparing myself unless the situation warrants it. After all, I must have a story to match her every tale. It's what I do. Often enough they don't notice when my words never answer their questions.
Most of my other co-workers only greet me in passing, an acknowledgment of respect to a comrade in arms. At the end of the day, they offer me casual waves and bid me to convey well wishes to my husband. They don't know he's gone. They don't know that their ignorance stabs me in the gut with twisting pain at the ironic significance of that thought. I always give them a hesitant smile respond with, "If I see him, I sure will." They smile absently and nod as they leave, once again content to move on with their own lives. It's why I shove my depression into a small black box. I don't see any reason to burden their already heavy lives with my woes too.
Sometimes I'm afraid of what answers I'll get back if I tell them my husband left me like so many others before him. I can only imagine their shocked and pitiful faces if I were to tell them of his casual disregard he has had for me throughout our lives together. They do not know that he treats me with the same respect as he would for them. They do not know the pain it causes me to realize that. Sometimes it's better to just leave well enough alone. I don't bring the key to unlocking that little black box while I'm working. It's best for all of us that I don't.
On the way home my husband calls me with another excuse to assuage his guilt. He comes over to tell me of his new life, gather some forgotten belonging, or to help with some chores. He looks at me with a keen eye and asks if I'm alright. I take a deep breath and look at him with hollow eyes and an almost genuine smile and tell him, "Yes, I'm just fine." He furrows his brow for a moment, but then shrugs and lets the matter drop. I don't think he really wants to know my true thoughts. He won't ever hear what I wish to tell him, "No, I'm not okay. You ripped out my heart. You fought to make me give up my inherent distrust of people. I pushed aside my fears as I watched you distance yourself. I struggled not to break as your coldness towards me reminded me of your past affairs. I conceded defeat and made the choice to trust you. Like a warrior smug in knowing the battle was won, you left me in the ruins of our life in the battlefield. So no, I'm not anywhere close to okay."
I'm sure if he looks close enough he can see the pain flash through my eyes. But by the time the thought passes, he's already looked away. Everyone has already looked away. Except, of course, for my cat who has focused entirely on me during those painful exchanges. He often ignores my husband as he checks to see if he is missed. He merely watches with casual disdain from his chair until the insignificant human has left. He waits patiently until I've had my dinner. He watches me as I wind down in front of the television.
He finally deigns to leave his chair at bedtime. He comes looking for attention. He will pester me for cuddles and pets until I give in and let him lead the way to bed. He waits for me curled up on my pillow while I get ready for bed. When I come in, he sleepily watches me as I feed the fish and plug in my phone to recharge. I cover him with the blankets as I turn them down. It's his sign to move to the end of the bed. I can finally rest my weary body, often reading for a time, with a cat at my feet. When I turn off the light to shut out another day, he remains curled up at my feet ready to protect me should an army of mutant dust bunnies attack me in the night. He is, after all, my very own protector who always watches over me.
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you know that one of my cats behaves exact the same way? still-hubby was here yesterday and she didn't even greet him
cats are very, very clever and know exactly who they trust
I read once a good description of the feelings you describe: someone told me "I envy the people attending a funeral; no one ask them why they're crying"
~hugs~
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I'm so glad you have your cat. Animals are so wonderful to sense your moods and show love.
I'm so sorry about all that has been going on in your life. I read back through your journal, and I wish there was something I could do. Just know that someone knows and cares. (((hugs))))
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Cats are so wonderful when it comes to being down. I'm glad you have the kitten about to help at least a touch.
... Okay, and there's this part of me that wants the cat to scratch your husband in the face, but that's just my mommy-bear complex talking.