They say heartbreak is the best inspiration. This is heartbreak inspiration
There’s been a stray around our house for the past few days. The first couple of days we fed it food…bad idea. But it’s hard to say no to a stray sometimes, especially when they end up in your own backyard. But it got the crazy idea in its head that it isn’t a stray. It loves people. Whenever we step outside it immediately starts to rub on our legs and try to be petted. But it isn’t just trying to scratch for fleas. I know because it otherwise sits around and can’t be bothered. But once we show it some attention, it’s clear she just wants to be loved.
But we can’t take care of the cat. I mean, I suppose we could. It’s not as though we don’t have the money to get her cleaned up, vaccinated, and spayed. We don’t want to. It’s a lot of work and a lot of time…on top of the fact that if we did clean her up, we’d have to take care of her from then on. It’d be a time commitment too. One that I’m not really willing to handle, right now. But she’s still around, because of those few days that we fed her some leftovers. So obviously, it’s our fault that she’s got this idea in her head that we might like to take care of her. But there are too many questions, too many possible complications. And simply not enough compassion on our part.
Not to say that we’re bad people or wrong, but it’s a fact. I don’t care enough about this cat to take care of it. I don’t. I’m not some kind of villain or bad person, I just…don’t want to do it. I’m sure it’d be rewarding, I’m sure. But at the same time I don’t want to invest that time, or make that initial step to get things cleaned up. If she took care of herself, I might consider it. I know, right? Funny, a cat cleaning itself up so that someone better can take care of it…
I know God is watching me. I can’t help but feel like this cat isn’t coincidentally around a month or two after I break up with her. Because I look at this cat, after these days, and the things it makes me feel, and I realize: I am the cat. And she is me. When I see the cat I look at how strange it is…it’s a black, speckled with orange spots and streaks, an anomalous coloration that’s different, and yet still cute. And those big eyes, always aware of what’s going on. Always ready to be held and loved. Wanting to be held and loved. Blissfully unaware of the filth and the grime it’s covered in, not knowing that that’s the obstacle keeping me from wanting to take it and take care of it. If only it could take care of itself, I keep thinking, it’d be so much easier just to let it in. If only I could take care of myself…
I can’t help but wonder if it means something. Will my actions towards this cat determine my future with her? Yeah, right…a dubious proposition, at best. And yet I can’t help but wonder. Maybe it’s just a lesson for me to learn. Maybe tomorrow the cat will be gone. Or maybe in a week it’ll crawl into the flower garden and rest its meowing head one last time. Maybe. Maybe if I take it in, invest in it, show it some love and bring it out of its pit, maybe then she’ll see the same in me. The potential for a happiness that would otherwise not exist. But probably not. It’s just a cat.
It’s just a cat.