To be or not to be... a cat

I used to envy my cat. Lounging around all day, bathing and preening and perfecting every centimeter of pristine fur. No cares. No worries. No stress. No pressure. No anxiety. I'd pet her at her desire, and to her own benefit, she'd be unavailable to anyone unless she was in the mood. Independent to a fault, some might surmise. I'd never have agreed. In my eyes, it was independence to be idealized.

But, a few evenings ago while I sat around the coffee table bouncing and enjoying some hearty laughs with the family over board games and too much pizza, the house cat decided it was time for her to get her fix of the day's attention she requires. However, today, it was not to be accepted. She was ushered out of the way of the board game pieces and off to the side to look dejected and forlorn. She could not join in with the six laughing family members, all bonding due largely to the gifts of their thumbs and verbal skills. Independent though the cat may be, she was now an outsider. Cast to the side never to appreciate the joy and misery in playing SceneIt Harry Potter Edition.

It struck me in that moment that the life I'd come to idealize, one of dipping in and out of the joy of social connection in lieu of completely engaging in it in order to avoid being hurt, was no foolproof endeavor. To my utmost chagrin, I see that it's all or nothing.

You're there or you're not. You're part of the family or you're not. You love or you don't.

You're an independent feline. Or you're a dependent puppy.