(This is not my cat.
I am allergic to cats, this is Elizabeth Wein’s cat, Hershey.
Hershey, I am reliably told, is mad.
Hershey is standing in for uncomplicated, unconflicted love today, because I just realized I have NO pictures of me holding my snake, Willful. None. So, someone else’s pet to the rescue…)
Human beings have MUCHO hang-ups. People look at us, and we ponder, for hours, What did that look mean? Our day-to-day environment is filled with such mental musings as, He was standing rather close to me. Should he have been? Why did she say that? Did she mean it nicely, or was she being sarcastic?
MAJOR, muy, mucho hang-ups.
There’s none of these questions with pets. They love you. They just do. They put up with your crap, they give you big hugs hello, and big smacking kisses goodbye, and there’s never any question of how they feel. There are human friends like this, those friends with whom you can pick up, after not seeing them for years, and you’re both on the same place on the same page, in the same book. Kismet. Synchronicity. Philia. Not tricky érōs, not long-suffering agápē, not familial storgē. They don’t have to love you, like your parents do (or, are alleged to). They just… do. Like a cat looking over at you — choosing to come to your lap and purr on you just when you need it, some loves are an uncomplicated, unexpected, and undeserved gift. Philia.
And, for this, I give thanks.
THERE’S A CAT PHOTO ON YOUR BLOG. I think I need to lie down.
Here’s to pets and friends that lower our blood pressure and make the day bearable. (And may the hairballs be few and far between.)