Friday, April 21, 2006

No Internet. No email. No excuse to sit at my desk and look busy absorbed in work. Sigh. The cable guy is on his way. They have 45 minutes to make good on their 3-hour window. I am never comfortable with my anxiety and disappointment, because of computer down time. I ought to read a book, to the children or myself. I ought to sort the clutter out of any of the drawers in the kitchen and bathrooms. I could be doing sit-ups, making lemonade, packing, folding the basket of clothes that I folded last night that Maria found and reorganized. It’s no good. I cleaned Zelda’s cage. I collected garbage from all the little receptacles, and swept the walk in front of the house. But I still keep coming back to my computer and trying to open my mail. Sigh.

Zelda. Haven’t I mentioned Zelda? Guess not. Well, she’s small, black with white and she has black, beady eyes. She squeaks. She whistles. She mellows out when sitting on your lap. She is our guinea pig. One of the nicest aspects of being an adult is exercising your right to act on your impulses. Truthfully she was a well thought out plan, and not as much of an impulse as I make out. Yes, some part of her acquisition is a rebellion against feeling like aspects of my life and dreams are on indefinite hold, but the greater part of her introduction is as a Max therapy.

When we had Diego, our dear kitty, Max had an outlet for his anxieties, for his need to hold someone, for his need to systematically provide for the needs of someone, without their objecting or necessarily reciprocating. Maria actually filled that void and Max has been an excellent big brother, always concerned, always eager to help her, hold her, and play with her. But Maria is growing; she is learning to meet her own needs. Max notices she doesn’t always want to be held or fed, or played with, and that she is capable of objecting. Zelda, on the other hand, likes to be held, often, and she has a water bottle to fill and a dish to clean. And while she responds to attention with little whistles and purring sounds, she doesn’t jump or lick, or bark, or insist on much more than a scratch on the back and a warm lap to sit on.

We all love Zelda. Geoff holds her when he gets up in the morning to read the news. William holds Zelda when he is sitting at the computer. Alex and Tamsyn both like visiting Zelda, making sure she is well and happy. Today Max and I cleaned Zelda’s home. He held her in a shoebox and quietly observed that she was happy outside in the sun. He discussed her food and debated whether her treats were healthy and good for every day or if we should restrict them to ‘once in a while.’ He noted that we need more bedding, and that one bag of bedding lasts through two cage cleanings. “Maybe we should buy two bags next time, so we can clean her cage four times before we need more.” Max scratched Zelda. Zelda “whirred,” and Maria turned her face and said “oooohh” affectionately.

By the way, we aren’t moving so far away. Geoff accepted a local job, and he starts Monday. I’ll pack his lunch, and hopefully we’ll find a nice place to live near the new office, so that sometimes he can come home for lunch.

No comments: