A plopping problem

I am not getting nearly enough exercise these days, and it's all the kitties' fault.

Every time I set up the living room for a workout, Bandy and Angel show up, no matter where nor how deeply they have been napping.  Bandy is a pretty good sport; she just sits on the sidelines looking at me with an expression of "Here I am, aren't you going to pet me?".

Angel is much more assertive.  She will come right to my feet, even if they are moving, plop on the rug, roll onto her back and show her belly.  How can I resist?  Of course I immediately go down to the floor to scratch and rub and stroke her until she is in a fair ecstasy of purring.  And, since I don't ever want to favor one over the other, I'll then go to Bandy, whose ecstasy consists of wrestling with a peacock feather.  

Having satisfied them both for the moment, I'll start my workout or dancing again, but before long, there is little Miss Angel at my feet.  Even if I wanted to resist, I couldn't ignore her completely because I would surely step on her.  It's a terrible dilemma, and I'm losing a lot of workout time.

I could put them both into another room and shut the door, but that would feel to them like a punishment, and they aren't really doing anything wrong.  When SH is downstairs in his office, they are very happy to go down with him and sleep together in the big, fluffy bed on his desk, but his time downstairs doesn't always coincide with my workouts.  Of course I can take long walks, as long as it's not raining too hard, but I like more variety in my workouts than just walking, such as resistance training with weights, and yoga, and step, and all sort of other fun routines.

To people without cats, this might seem like a faux problem.  "Just keep pushing them out of the way until they catch on, or do that locking them in another room thing.  For heaven's sake, don't be a victim to your pet."  But anyone who is a cat lover/owner understands that a belly-up cat is virtually impossible to ignore.  It is a sign of such trust, and it's just so darned adorable.  

I suppose it's possible that at some point, they will both come to be uninterested in my moving feet and not bother to show up for the workouts.  And you know what?  At that point, I will probably miss them terribly and wish they would get underfoot again.

In the meantime, I'm going for a walk.

Let him be him

Last night I noticed that Sweet Hubby had left partway open the sliding door to the shelf over the bathroom sink.  It used to bother me that he did that - it makes the room look sloppy and unfinished - so I had asked him several times in the past to be sure to close it, but it was something he seemed not to be able to be consistent about.  Eventually I decided it was simply too small an issue to make a fuss over, and so just started either leaving it open or sliding it shut myself, with no further comment.

I'm not sure why it bothered me when I noticed it again last night.  Maybe because I'd been thinking about how proud I am that when SH requests something from me, I make sure to do it (putting the pillowcase opening to the face the inside of the bed, wiping off the counter after taking my psyllium, folding his socks but not his boxers, little things like that).  Last night was the first time I recognized that the roiled up feeling I had when I saw that half-opened shelf door was of being disrespected.

I almost didn't say anything, because it is really such a very small thing, but I also realized that if I didn't say anything, the feeling might gnaw on me until it turned into resentment, so I spoke up.  Of course of course he meant no disrespect, and felt very bad that he had once again failed to do something I had asked for and he had agreed to.  He couldn't understand why he simply didn't seem to be able to remember to slide the door shut when leaving the room.

However, as he was talking, I realized very clearly why this one mundane act keeps escaping his notice.  SH is a contemplative man, and the bathroom affords him a place for some of his deeper musings.  Whether he's showering, shaving, brushing his teeth, or, you know, other things, he falls into thinking about whatever is on his mind, and thinking about it deeply.  He goes to who knows what other worlds, be they mechanical, digital, electrical, historical, personal, political, and for a short while gets lost in those worlds.  Naturally something as mundane as a shelf door doesn't register in his conscious mind, because his conscious mind is giving all its space to the unconscious mind.

And his deep-thinking, reflective mind is part of what I love about him, part of what makes him special and right for me.  I was basically asking him to change, to think less deeply so that he could be sure to do something as unimportant as sliding closed a shelf door.  Once I saw this, I withdrew my request, and vow never again to make an issue of it.  And he has promised that he is going to take on the challenge of reflecting inwardly just as deeply as ever while also finding a way to remember to close the stupid shelf.  So we both win.  And that's marriage.

Our new leader

My friends and fellow Democrats, I believe we have found our candidate.  Hakeem Jeffries (who the heck was he until a few days ago?) has just put the spotlight on himself with his electrifying speech before the House about what the Democratic Party stands for.  If you haven't seen it, I urge you to check it out on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JLOAQjjKJbM&t=45s. 

It is both amusing and chilling to watch the Dem. side of the aisle applaud his speech enthusiastically, while the Rep. side sits stonily.  How can they not applaud for what he has just said, about putting the people before politics, the Constitution over the cult, inclusion over isolation?   Well, of course I understand it's because he is calling out the Republican Party for how they have behaved in the past six+ years.  But still, for them not to applaud makes it look as though they believe in politics over people, the cult of Trump over the Constitution, isolation over inclusion.  Aren't they embarrassed?  Aren't they ready to change?

I would vote for a Jeffries-Buttigieg ticket in an instant.  I'm ready to vote for them right this second.  I feel politically hopeful and elated for the first time in quite a while.  

Change your partner

Today I'm going to be taking a long walk on the university campus, and as I was making my plans last night, I was thinking "I wish Sweet Hubby liked to hike and take longer walks."  And, indeed, it would be great to have his company when I'm walking.

But then I realized that to wish him to like something he doesn't like would be to ask for him to be a different person.  And why would I want to do that when who I love is who he is, as he is?

Certainly there are some actions or behaviors I feel I have a right to object to or ask to be modified.  "Would you please close the bathroom cabinet when you're done?"  "Would you please use these towels instead of those towels?"  Things like that.  But to ask him to like something he doesn't is a different category, beyond the realm of behavior and into character and temperament.  I admit that he does have a legitimate reason not to like long walks, since they make his joints ache.  For his sake, I do wish that were different.  But even without that, he has made it clear that he is just not a hiker guy

But why would I want to change the best thing that has ever happened to me and the best person I know?

This line of thought makes me wonder how many other people in my life I have wished to be different than they are, and how foolish, not to mention pointless, that is.  I don't know that anybody could get me to enjoy golf.

Expanding hearts

A bit before Christmas, Sweet Hubby and I adopted kittens, two 22-week-old tabby sisters we've named Angel and Bandy (Bandit).  It is astounding to me how quickly we have fallen sloppily, giddily, abundantly in love with them.

We will always hold in our memories the love we had for our dear departed Stachie and Flow.  They were with us for 11 and 13 years respectively, and we adored them for every day of those years, even when Flow left little turds around the house in unexpected places; even when Stachie woke us up at 4:30am begging for food in her little peepy cheepy voice; even when they scratched up our denim couch.  They were our family, and precious beyond belief, and it has taken us quite a while to stop listening for them or catching imagined glimpses of them out of the corners of our eyes.  Photos of them are all around our home, and we always look at those with a poignant sigh.

However, there is something about kittens which brings an entirely new dimension to our love.  Stachie and Flow were 4 years old when we adopted them, and they brought with them the effects of those years with another family, some good and some not quite so fine.  Angel and Bandy are young and learning and growing, and they will learn and grow as part of our family in this home we've made and are making together.  They were so immediately relaxed with us, allowing us to pick them up, rolling over to show us their bellies, not easily startled, curious about everything, endlessly playful, endlessly affectionate.  It took our dear Flow four years before he finally sat in our laps.  It took Angel and Bandy a day.

With both sets of pets, I have found myself wondering "How do parents become big enough to hold the love they have for their children?"  As much as we lovelovelove our cats, I'm pretty sure the feelings we have for them are only a portion in size compared to what parents must feel for their babies, children, teenagers - well, maybe not for teenagers so much.  I'm sort of knocked out thinking that my parents must have loved me with all the tenderness and fullness I feel for Angel and Bandy, times one hundred and eighty.  Not that love can be quantified, of course, but I don't know how else to describe what I imagine is the weight and depth of parental affection.  I'm surprised they are ever able to let us cross the street alone, much less drive and date and go on sleepovers.  They're just so, so big, these feelings.   Oh my gosh, am I enjoying being kitty drunk.