Felinity

I feel great compassion for all animals, and don't like being labeled specifically like "cat person" or "dog person" because those types of labels connote a dislike of the rest as opposed to an increased appreciation of the one. That being said, this post is a tribute to the things I appreciate about cats, specifically those currently in my family and those who have passed. I had to take Majik to the animal hospital this morning for a urinary blockage; so far he is doing well, but I miss him already, and want to acknowledge what I appreciate about him and his kind.

I love falling victim to the "second- or third-kitty" syndrome as I end up napping after cuddling up to sleeping cat(s) in the middle of the day. I love the there's-no-place-I'd-rather-be look they make with their eyes. I love how soft they feel. I love their safe and tranquil purr.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting on our sofa next to my husband with Majik in my lap. We were both petting him, and he was returning our love in the form of trust, purrs, relaxation, and peace. While sitting there, I said "people who don't like cats have never experienced moments like this."

Trust

I've always thought of myself as a trustworthy person, but pretty much took it for granted when people opened up to me. That was in college. I felt like the dorm counselor because so many people came to me for my perspective on things. Since then, being eschewed from the safe confines of educationland, I see how little people trust others. Granted, there are those who have an easier time at it, and I still fall into the end of the spectrum where I trust too easily.

My point is, as you wouldn't have been able to guess from the above paragraph, that being trusted is a gift. Especially from those at the more conservative end of the trusting spectrum. So, this post is a reminder of how feeling accepted, valued, and trusted shouldn't be taken for granted.

Pressure

I was transported back into grade school Saturday when some friends came over to play tennis. I began to carry the level of confidence that comes with being one of those pathetic "last ones picked." I will always blame inability to physically perform under pressure for being picked last. (When there's no pressure, I'm often quite impressed with what I'm able to do.) And, despite how much I got yelled at by teachers and classmates when I missed a catch, kick, or throw, I believe the greatest pressure came from within myself.

So, even though there was no "picking" involved in playing doubles, points were. So if my partner maintained a good rally only for me to ruin it, I felt like I was letting the world down. This is not just the common disappointment most feel when they don't perform the way the mind says, but the unproportional kind that further degrades my self-image. Fortunately, this was all in my head, which means it's thoretically in my capacity to do something about it. The other good thing about it is that I'm (mostly) surrounded by people who don't contribute to the pressure, if not help reduce it, which is probably why I was able to see where the pressure comes from.

How I became this way is a whole other story.

If

I recently re-read a recounting of my husband's car accident. Unlike last time, I didn't cry out with tears of rage, nor were the pangs of misplaced guilt as severe.

How can such little things have the power to change so much? A split second of time. A scoche of an inch. A two-letter word. If.

How can such a little word bring so much sorrow and pain, yet also so much hope and joy?
It partners with our choices and possibilities, and stays with us after the pieces fall.
It is what allows us, with time, to appreciate good fortune, heal from our wounds, and gain wisdom.

Before we were married, I asked him whether he would change anything in his past if he had the ability. I was upset when he said "not one thing", but eventually realized he had the wisdom to understand how such a little thing would change so much; and what would happen if he did go back and change one little thing?

Delight

Okay, maybe this title would better serve a more agreeable experience, but hey--life's short, and there are many words.

Yesterday, upon opening my car door at the end of a work day, I noticed a tiny spider suspended in the center of the space in which I would be sitting. I gently sweeped my finger several inches above the spider to pick up it's silk and transfer it to a large tree that was closeby.

It's probably worth mentioning at this point that I'm generally comfortable around insects, at least until they are found crawling on me without my permission. (And I'm wary around stinging insects because I'm very allergic.)

As I watched the spider land on the tree, I noticed how the tree's bark was so perfectly, randomly segmented into a beautiful mosaic of puff-pastry-like layers of variegated browns and mottled, lichen greens. The trunk of the tree too large to close my arms around.

Just as I was turning away, I sensed movement on the bark. Upon closer inspection, a piece of bark was moving as if something were beneath it. Nay, it a piece of bark with legs!

I picked up some loose bark on the ground to urge it into a little bag I had to take it home and
investigate.

Delight? Sure! I'd never seen or heard of an insect like it! And I'm always amazed by nature's ingenuity, and this was definitely an example! Just the night before, I saw a television program
about animals that drastically transformed themselves through their lifecycle. This insect turned out to be a brown lacewing larvae; a.k.a. "Aphid Wolf", due to its beneficially carnivorous
nature, and "Trash Bug", due to its practice of attaching debris to its back, including carcasses of insect victims, to protect it from larger predators.

I set it loose among my plants because it will find food there until it makes a cocoon, and maybe I will see an adult lacewing someday.