Buddy and I went to the vet this morning for his annual check-up and shots.
When we got home just now, while rubbing affectionately through my legs for an extended period of time, he sheepishly suggested maybe we could call the vet for Buddy to apologize for being such a little demon monster nightmare cat.
At one point, arms in protective gloves up to her pits while holding my biting, hissing, screaming, howling, scratching little bundle of smushy joy down on the table so the vet could examine and vaccinate him, the vet tech said, "Your mommy's going to need to take some of your phenobarbitol herself when you get home."
Early this morning as the family lay in bed contemplating the need to get up and grade papers, I looked at my two cats curled up next to me, cute and soft and precious as could be, and I thought what a wonderful gift of company they provide me. I thought about whether or not there's anything in there behind their expressive eyes and whiskers and ears, any actual personality-being. I thought what a cutey and trooper and loving guy my Buddy is (and what a needy, depressive, but exceptionally well-behaved gal his sister Georgianna is).
Two hours later I wanted to crawl under the examining table. I could see the vet and her assistant wondering how in the world any human being could live with such a terrorist for a pet.
Then we came home and back came the (albeit sheddy) angel.
If there's no being-personality in my cat, then at least there's amusement and affection and a reminder that nobody really holds up well - in love and patience, gentleness and kindness - under stress; least of all me. And we all must be pretty embarrassing to our parents, human and divine, when the monster comes out.
Now I must hope and pray that as I face the extra stress of driving up to Boston and back four times in the next week, on top of all the end-of-semester pressures of writing and grading, that I won't make the people I interact with have to get out the protective gloves while they hold me down hissing and complaining and saying ugly things in my stress and obsession with exerting my pseudo-control.