View from the North 40: Not waving, but drowning, yet laughing

Sometimes I believe all the people who love me beyond my faults, and those people who just don’t know me well enough, when they say, “Oh, it’s too bad you didn’t have kids. You would’ve been a great parent.”

Nope.

My animals, aka the four-legged family, often remind me of my weaknesses, which make pet ownership complicated.

In the higher-stakes game of parenthood, though, these failings most likely would have proven fatal. Not so much for the kids, but me.

I am, by my very nature, way too sensitive to have been a parent. Well, I should qualify that with: I’m way too sensitive in the wrong ways.

I am, too often, oblivious to things or the importance of things, then A) Something about the incident or injury or whatever makes me laugh, and/or B) I realize how this incident or injury is going to affect me and my life.

Sure point A is great because it shows sensitivity to what is called “situational humor,” but point B shows a strong sensitivity for what is called “myself” — specifically me, myself and I and my own plight. It’s all about how it makes me me me feel.

Worse, occasionally something hits me right in the feels and I get to point C) where my sensitivity turns into a runaway train of hyper-anxiety.

My dog, Cooper, turned 13 years old in September and we were fully embracing his elderly dog status and attitude — so cute — until we realized his new old-guy laziness was actually illness. A few trips to the vet later and it turns out he has diabetes, which we are treating with insulin and diet and he feels much better. No big deal.

I still want to quit work to spend every minute catering to his needs, petting him and staring at him while he sleeps because I’m stressing over how I’m going to feel when he’s gone from us, which seems really really real right now. That’s all.

Now this week our cat, Tony-O, disappeared for almost 24 hours. Sure, he’s kind of feral, but since the day he moved in he’s never not showed up in a 24-hour period. Ever. Then out of the blue he did.

I was all like “Oh, that dang independent cat” until about hour 20, and John and I saw he hadn’t even touched his food. We called and called and called and searched and called (and it sounded like a mourner’s keening) and nothing. And then we resolved to be chill about it, but I continued the mourning process in my heart. Alone.

Then he just showed up — came in, jumped onto the back of the couch, yawned and waited for someone to give him treats. I hugged my husband, because feral cats don’t put up with that nonsense, and I leaked some tears and felt like laughing and sobbing and never letting anyone leave my sight again. Ever, because it makes me feel scared inside.

Can you imagine my life if I were trying to live with human children? My response to any given situation would be point D) All of the above.

I’d be like “Oh, I’m really sorry your toy broke, Pam Jr. You’ll be OK … some day, hahaha. Seriously, you should’ve seen that broke-off part fly across the room, bounce off two walls then, bam!, right in your forehead. Hahahah! No, you don’t need a doctor … you need a cartographer because that bruise looks like the shape of Maine. Hahaha. And no I’m not spending good money on another toy for you to break. Fix that toy or play in the box or something. Um, are you OK, honey. Ohmygawd, I think she has a concussion! We’re going to the ER! It’s probably a brain bleed. I’m hiring a helicopter to life-flight us to the nearest Mayo Clinic! She’ll never be the same and it’s ALL MY FAULT!”

Later I would find out Pam Jr. was just tired from all the playing and crying.

I couldn’t live under that much stress.

When I’m being realistic about my potential as a parent I know that I would’ve had to abandon my hypothetical offspring early on and let them toddle their way to safety into an adequate mom’s arms. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s kind of like how the airline people always say that, should something happen to cause the air masks to drop down, parents need to put their own mask on before assisting their child if you want everyone to survive.

It seems counterintuitive, but by saving myself, I saved others.

——

These pets will be the death of me. Don’t tell anyone I cried at [email protected].