I have a thing for cats.
Dogs are okay. I like other people's dogs. It's kind of the same way some people feel about kids or grandchildren—you can play with them and enjoy them but can also give them back when you're done, without having to clean up after them.
My real attraction, though, is to what I commonly call The Fragile Cat.
Fragile cats are beautiful and strong, quiet in their complications, and they respond to my affections readily. They know I'll pet them and care for them, feed and affect them at their whim. But they're skittish and easily spooked. If I'm too attentive, they arch their backs and puff up defensively, backing away with darting, slanted eyes and an occasional hiss.
In case you don't get it, I'm not talking about actual cats.
Some women have a thing for bad boys. Not me. Granted, some of the fragile cats I've known have also been dangerous and bad-tempered, but most of them have been sweet if a bit mischievous. They're aloof. I am especially adept at coaxing them out of their hiding places, whether with treat or a gentle scratch behind their ears. Growler deemed me to be a fragile cat hunter, and we agreed that my autobiography will likely be called Fragile Cats in the Mist.
Sometimes it's hard to distinguish them from other cats, and sometimes dogs, but there are certain characteristics they all have in common:
complex, complicated histories with some substantial damage, usually involving their mothers
history of sometimes-addictive behaviors, whether alcohol or drugs or sex or love
craving of quality affection that they've missed out on
deep need to share their own truths, whether or not they feel safe enough in their regular environment to do so
intriguing, enigmatic personalities with a craving to experience their lives
They're deliciously funny and dangerously charming. They're generally wry and self-deprecating, and they will deliver to my doorstep the most scrumptious of morsels, often stalked and hunted in my own backyard.
I can recognize them almost immediately, in part because I've had lots of experience with them. Even the ones who know they're fragile cats and try to hide it catch my attention and draw me in, because I am a fragile cat. My intuitive heart feels the kindred spirit, sometimes on sight.
I spent so much time and energy to understand my own history and damage, and I fought like hell to move past it and rebuild from a place of utter deconstruction. I know the road that is offered before them by the time our paths cross, but I also acknowledge that no one can be forced to take on their issues. Everyone must come to it in their own time and place, at a pace that is suitable for them.
So I know better than to try to fix the fragile cat, to try to repair their damage or bandage it for them before they skitter back into a dark alley in the middle of the night. That's not my job. What I am, consistently, is a place for them to bring that damage into the light of day without recrimination, without judgment, without fear of being abandoned on the side of the road.
Sometimes they let me. Sometimes they don't. I've known fragile cats for years or months or sometimes only days. That's their prerogative, to come and go as they need. But the most fragile ones almost always come back, no matter how long it may be between their visits, because they know I won't hurt them.
I don't seek them out; they are just the kind of personality that is utterly magnetic to me. They are the ones who cause me to peer again into the darkness, searching twice for the glint of their glowing eyes. Every single time I swear I'm not doing it again, that I promise myself I won't go hunting for the feral, some stray caterwauls nearby and then swishes its tail, weaving between my legs. They seek me out because they know I can't turn them away.
And what do I get from them? I get their softness. I get the undeniable surprise of their appearing when I least expect it, often when I'm at my lowest, and rubbing their heads against mine while they purr, just to make me smile and sigh. When those cats are self-aware enough to see my catness, they feed me and pet me and remind me that sometimes it's okay to curl up in a safe lap and nap in the sun.
Comments