This weekend, my roommate and her boyfriend, who is visiting from California, traveled to Syracuse for a conference. For the first time since moving in on August 5, I spent the weekend with her dog, without her. Despite her trepidation, it was a delight. I've long held the belief that pets behaviors are mirrors of their human's true self. When I look at my cat, I see a caring, loving soul, who is stubborn, craves companionship, but also covets solitude. He eats a little too much, but maintains his current weight, with slight fluctuations. He is not a picky eater and loves a treat. He is a light sleeper, but does love to lounge about. He is friendly, but very quick to pass judgment based on nothing more than his instincts. He loves the outdoors but not crowds or loud company. He is not concerned with material things and gets bored easily. I look at him and see myself. I also could not do what she trusted me with. Other than a surgery, I've not spent more than a single night away from him since he arrived in my life. That time in the hospital was excruciating, not due to the pain in my bones, but the hole in my heart. I do realize, chances are, he will leave me before I leave him. I'm OK with that, because I know, the pain he'd feel, and I'm willing to take it on.
This weekend, I took care of Whooza. I'm still uncertain what breed of dog this white devil is, but he's an anxious, easily-flustered, boisterous, but loving animal. He loves being outside, but worries he's overstayed his allotted time when allowed to freely come and go. He gravitates towards the comfort of being in sight of humans and is threatened by other dogs. He has sporadic eating habits, will only eat organic specialty foods, and has consistent bowel issues. His nervousness at times is overwhelming and he needs others to know about. In this sense, he's a bit self-absorbed, needing constant confirmation his presence is noted. Take a minute and reread the key line of the previous paragraph. This was not the case this past weekend.
Swag, the cat, does not love the dog. He does not love any dog. Their size, their voice, their wagging tails, their constant need for attention and their inability to decipher the sound of a snowplow from the pitter-patter of their human's feet. He tolerates the dog, but his tolerance ends with the concept of sharing the bed. This weekend, he sensed, or at least I feel as if he did, Whooza's sadness. The odd thing about this weekend is, Whooza didn't bark, didn't whine, and didn't whistle. A thing he does when anxiety gets the best of him. Whooza ate on schedule. He had no stomach issues. He went outside when he wanted to and came back in his own good time. He slept on my bed when he could, but realized, on his own, when Swag was ready to reclaim his spot. Swag enjoyed the living room which is usually occupied by others and Whooza. He sat in the chair, slept, and ignored the silliness of a dog in his spot. Around midnight each night, whether he be in the living room, on his closet shelf, or coexisting on the bed, he would stake his claim in a language only animals can understand. he would stretch, yawn, and stare. Whooza, both nights, jumped down from my bed and scampered into his bedroom, jumped on the bed, staying there until 8:00-8:30. He then would rejoin the fray. Swag often choosing to find other places of leisure or go on a hunt.
Whooza may still be sad. He may miss the familiarity of his humans. I do know that the uncomfortable sounds and agitated barks and tail wags have been the fewest they've been since I met him. I will not take credit for I did nothing other than treating him as I treat Swag. For the most part, he's mirrored Swag's behaviors and while I know they won't last, it's interesting how animals, especially our pets, will feed off the true energy we exude, never once mimicking that which we project.
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