By RACHEL SAUER
The Daily Sentinel
Generally, I’m on board for the ever-growing slew of holidays and observances that exist simply because someone says so on the internet.
Peanut Butter Day? Bring me a spoon!
Word Nerd Day? I’m corybantic!
I’m only sorry that I failed to celebrate Fruitcake Toss Day (Jan. 3), Soup Swap Day (Jan. 20) (and also, ?) and Do a Grouch a Favor Day (Feb. 16).
However, Thursday was Love Your Pet Day, and while I may question the need for such a thing in the tiniest, farthest corner of my mind – why, after all, am I letting animals live in my house if I don’t love them? – I otherwise embrace this day with the fervor of someone clutching a donut after a sugar detox.
Which is to say, I have two cats.
So, at this exact moment, there are 1,137 photos and videos on my phone, and 1,136 of them are of one or both cats. The other is of a weird cloud I saw the other day.
Love Your Pets Day? I probably need Why Don’t You Dial It Down a Notch Because You’re Freaking People Out Day.
I know I’m not alone in this, and I’m not just talking about the dogs-in-tiaras-and-tutus contingent. Heck, I had an elderly friend in Arkansas who let her lovebird, Sweet Pea, perch on top of her head and nest in her hair. That was love (it was also a sizable monkey wrench in my conversational game, if I’m honest).
I love my cats in a way that causes me to spend more than a few minutes a day bent forward at the waist with arms outstretched, chasing my cat Nyx. “I am going to grab you and squeeze you!” I announce all the while, rolling the R in grab so that it’s grrrrrrrab. I am at a loss to explain this.
When I’m not chasing Nyx, I’m addressing my cat Hobbes.
Me: Hobbesie Wobbesie Doodle All the Day!
Hobbes:
Me: Mr. Fluffiest of Pantaloons!
Hobbes: *blink*
Me: Señor Tootsie Beans! Cuddlebug Deluxe!
Hobbes: “Wisdom comes through suffering.
Trouble, with its memories of pain,
Drips in our hearts as we try to sleep,
So men against their will
Learn to practice moderation.
Favors come to us from gods.”
-Aeschylus, from Agamemnon
And it’s not that I’m starved for love; I have wonderful people in my life who love me and whom I love. I’m just not sure I love them in a way that makes me want to snatch them up and bury my face in their soft, fuzzy tummies until they scratch me. I lack the upper body strength for that.
Sometimes – and this is where you might want to lock your doors in case I happen to know your address – the love I feel for my cats is almost desperate. I look at them and I cannot handle how cute they are. I don’t even know what to do with myself, they’re so cute. Should I weep? Run in circles and flail my hands? Post more pictures on their Instagram?
Loving a pet is acknowledging that yes, I’m the one with the opposable thumbs and can opener, but they’re the ones who are never going to complain about work to the point of tedium or cancel plans at the last second or disappoint me in little, paper cut stings that aren’t a big deal but actually kind of are.
Instead, because they’re cats, they’re going to twine around my ankles as I’m trying to walk down stairs; they’re going to plop on my face in the middle of the night, not only waking me up but smothering me; they’re going to chew every cord in the house and shred the toilet paper if I forgetfully leave it out.
And if I’m very, very lucky, they’re going to saunter onto my lap, settle in and fall asleep, and I won’t move a muscle lest the spell be broken and I lose even a second with this spazzy, furry comet streaking through my life.
All I ask is that you remind me of this the next time I inadvertently step in cat barf.