My cats are very disappointed in me. And when you look at my job performance the last few days, it's hard to blame them.
I'm letting workmen crawl around under their house with power tools and noisy bangy objects.
I left them Thursday to go to the farmer's market, bringing back tuna steaks that I wouldn't share with them.
Thai resents that I watched a DVD with Damon last night (the movie adaptation of Beezus and Ramona is great even though Beezus is too old) instead of playing videogames on the computer where she could catlap me; while Bruce resents that at the end of the movie I got up to do other things even though he was catlapping me.
I moved Thai out of the chair in front of the sewing machine just so I could sew, and even went so far as to close the door to that room when Bruce wanted me to do something for him but wouldn't tell me what it was. (I suspect he wanted me to chase the workmen out from under the house.)
I shut them out all afternoon one day this week without checking whether they might want to come in.
I've allowed it to rain when they wanted to be outside.
I am presently typing a blog post around Thai instead of rubbing her tummy like I'm supposed to.
In many ways, I am a terrible person to them. I leave them alone some days; do things they have no interest in when they need attention; refuse to let them participate in fascinating activities like sewing; and take them off the table when there's food on it. Even if the food isn't one they're interested in.
Yet, they purr for me, doctor me when I'm sick, snag me as I walk by to say hi, and forgive me even for vet visits and workmen. If my cats are happy, I know I'm not a terrible person.
It's good to get outside your own perspective and see yourself from another point of view once in awhile. If they can forgive my sins of omission and commission, I reckon I can, too.
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