I’m pretty sure my mom’s cat knows I’m at DEFCON Dinosaur Extinction when it comes to my recent bouts with anxiety. He’s cuddling with me, asking about my day, and offering to do my laundry. That is why he sits on my clothing, right?
This is the same cat that once cornered me in a narrow hallway. Years ago (when I was an actual adult who wasn’t sharing her space with her entire family) Zeus told me that I was in his hallway. He did one of those throaty growls made all the more ominous because his mouth remained closed. Also, just a week prior he had torn a pair of my pants with my legs still inside them. Given the context I was afraid, so afraid that I called my mother over to rescue me.
“He’s throaty growling,” I said.
My mom laughed.
“His mouth is closed.”
I’m convinced she trains him in mischief-making.
Fast forward to the present day. Zeus is being nice. Like really nice. He sits on my lap and purrs. He pats my head knowingly. It’s like he understands that anxiety sucks and he’s there for me.
He might also be hungry.