As the real world shifted from blurry soft focus to a clear sharp image this morning, I started to turn my body to the right, kicked my left foot forward and was halted by Bianka’s alarming announcement: “Careful, don’t kick Dolce!” The fat cat was sleeping at her feet and she didn’t want his comfortable slumber interrupted. Never mind that cats sleep an average of 13-18 hours per day.
I rolled back to my side and, in my foggy haze, felt a desire to grab one of the cats to cuddle with à la teddy bear. Thus began the avalanche of thoughts… Our cats are like our kids, here in referred to as our “Chids.”
Here are the vitals: We believe the cats to be from the Bombay breed; black, muscular and larger than the average house cat. The original breeders were actually trying to create miniature panthers. “Jesus, what do you feed your cats,” is most often asked (exclaimed actually) by house guests.
Dante is the alpha male. He beats up on Dolce (the fat one) all the time, gets to eat first and thinks this is his apartment. As soon as an unknown entity enters our home, however, he’s the first one to run hiding, He is thin and loves to play and explore.
Dloce is the submissive one. He’s fat, more cuddly and less afraid of guests. He has to wait for Dante to finish eating before he can eat, or he’ll deal with Dante’s wrath.
People who say cats have no personality have never had one. If anything, Bianka and I have discovered that, emotionally, cats are much more similar to humans than dogs. This observation is the reason, we theorize, dog-people detest cats so much; if a cat doesn’t like something that you’re doing, he’ll tell you (in his own way) rather than a dog who will get kicked in the face by his owner and continue wagging his tale and enthusiastically asking for more. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE dogs. All I’m saying is this: Dog-lovers tend to passionately hate cats. Cat-lovers, on the other hand, tend to either love dogs as well or be somewhat indifferent. To us, cat-lovers, it feels like dog-lovers are insecure people who desperately need constant validation from their pets rather than being able to love their pets for who they are and being able to respect their pets for needing their own individual space.
Much like our kids.
It occurred to me that our relationship with our cats is a total reflection of our parents’ relationship with us. I want to hold the cats close and squeeze them, but they pull away, feeling claustrophobic. My divorced parents, both independently of each other, have always dreamt that I would move in with them and we could live together. My dad wishes that he and I were buddies, living together in sunny Orange County and (when feeling crazy) hitting the Mission Viejo Soup Plantation where he can treat me to a buffet of soup and salad. He’d even purchase me a drink so that I would have all the refillable Diet Coke my heart desired. He would use his senior discount. We feast and talk about life, politics and women till the night's end (10pm). My mom, on the other hand, always wished that we could live together so that I could continue my roll as her surrogate partner, which I have been learning is not uncommon in our culture. She could cook every day, clean my room and we could see movies together.
Most of the time, when we try to hold the cats close, the freak out a bit, feel overwhelmed and push away. When my parents call me at all hours of the night and keep trying to see me, I push away, feeling overwhelmed and angry that they are not respecting my space. One or the other has been on the other side of the planet for a significant part of my life. I feel rage, push their love away and ask, “what the hell gives you the right to ask me for a detailed daily itinerary NOW?” Never mind that most likely, they are trying to make conversation; I hear it as they are trying to control me.
When we sit on the couch, Dante likes to pop his head up from time to time, be petted, and then move on his merry way. He doesn’t like to just sit on our laps for hours at a time. We used to try picking Dante up and putting him on our laps but he would take off the second we let go of him. So now, we try to coax him into sitting on our laps by sitting very still, doing whatever we can to entice him. When I see my parents, I enjoy a couple of hours of banter and dinner. When I try to leave, they keep trying to get me to stay and to “talk more about what’s going on in my life.” I take off running as soon as I hit the parking lot. They have since re-engineered their efforts. My mom now tries to be very pressure-free and let me be the one to go to her. My dad, the financial wiz, likes to give me money; his form of positive reinforcement. Not a lot of money, just enough to make me hungry for more. Then, when they’re not calling to check up on me (answering MY request to be left alone) I feel unloved and hurt that they are not reaching out to me. When Bianka and I leave the cats alone for a weekend, we come back to a disaster area. Things have been trashed, food dishes flipped over and walls scratched… Our Chids want to be independent but when we leave them alone, they respond with anger.
Dante, the alpha, talks a big game about running this house (in cat, of course) but as soon as an “intruder” hits his turf, Dante is the first one hiding under the bed. One inebriated Saturday night, we had a cute little female cat as a guest (long story) which solidified my view of Dante and the perfect reflection of Alphas in our society. I’m sure even Dante was forced to ask himself how he had been reduced to hiding from this cat-fetale who was nearly half his size. Dolce, on the other hand, stayed in the living room, hissing at the little girl kitty. Outside, in the real world, I was reminded of all the alpha conservatives who considered water boarding to not be real torture. When Chicago radio personality, Mancow, accepted the challenge, he lasted six seconds. A liberal policymaker once said that the reason conservatives think that torture works is because it works on them. I have no doubt that Dick Cheney would gladly spill all the states secrets if he was hung upside down in a dark room. An alpha like him can’t conceive of the level of passion (mislead or not) it takes to accept the pain because you believe in a greater cause. As a beta male, myself, I felt much like Dolce. A “threat” enters my domain and I’m the one that stands my ground while all the alphas I know are nowhere to be seen. The alphas get all the credit for having obtained the high paying jobs and the trophy wives while I’m the one who has the balls to be honest about human emotions and feelings, I’m the one who is not so easily threatened by dealing with the “real issues” of the human condition and yet I’m the one that gets no credit from my parents… I’m the fat one, I’m the emotional one, I’m the one that has to wait for the alphas to finish eating before I get a chance.
Dante loves to explore the outside world but only on his terms. When we leave the front door open, he slips out to the courtyard of our apartments but only goes a certain distance. When I pick him up and try to walk him further, he starts freaking out. Growing up, I bitched about curfews and wanted to be left alone to discover the world. When my mom enrolled me in a new school as a child I cried and, today, when my dad tries to push me into a career path which is not on my terms, I freak out.
When we pet one, the other looks over a bit jealously. When we try to give equal attention, it’s either wrongly timed or is received with a lukewarm response from the respective kitty who is accepting the attention only because he doesn’t want to pass it up, not because he really wants it at that particular moment. Been there, done that.
Our Chids scratch up the carpet, pee in weird places, get sick, fight like banshees, make up five minutes later, jump on the table when they know their not supposed to, get mad at us, hold grudges against each other, hold grudges against us, freak out, cry and sneak out without us knowing, accidentally getting locked out for the night and crying till the next morning till we let them in. Sometimes when I work from home, Dolce randomly decides he needs attention and jumps on my lap. I try to type around him and he keeps trying to distract me, hitting the key board, trying to jump on the table (which he knows not to do) and then looking into my eyes and purring when I cave in. I used to joke that now I know what it must feel like for parents who try to work from home. I didn’t think, at that time, that living with our Chids would be the catalyst for my own reflection of my relationship with my own parents.
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