The Thing About Cats

I am constantly tired.

I am constantly on the verge of tears.

I am constantly desiring my bed, to curl up with my pillows, my blankets, my kitties.

Their only expectations of me are food and water in their bowls, a clean box of litter, a running faucet and a warm place to curl up and rest. And snuggles. Don't forget the snuggles.

That I can do.

They don't care if I get up at a certain time, log into a computer at a certain time, sell anything, remember eight million things to do on every call. They don't care if the Christmas tree has lights, if there's something for dinner other than kibble. They don't get mad at me when I say I will do something, but remain unmoved from my position in front of the glowing box half an hour later. They don't understand that I'm having a moment where I. Just. Can't., but they don't have to understand. All they need to understand is that I'm Mom, and Mom is the keeper of the kibble, the wizardess of water, the sorceress of snuggles. Nothing more, nothing less.

I have good days and bad. Good moments and bad. At this particular moment, even something so simple, so wonderfully festive as putting the lights on the tree is causing me to weep uncontrollably and want to throw my covers over my head and feel my cats arrange themselves and settle in against my blanketed legs as I fall into a fitful sleep, dwelling on the fact that I have to do it all again tomorrow.

Healing seems so far away right now.