She's Home

I think Moxie is finally to the point where she's both comfortable and happy here. She's lying a few feet away, half-asleep in the way only cats are--she wakes up every time I sneeze or yawn or straighten up, just to check to make sure nothing is changing, and then her eyes slowly flicker shut again.

A lot of people don't know how important pets are for people like me. I suffer from a lot of anxiety, a lot of panic, and a lot of fear. I've been homeless and slept on friends' couches. I've been poor enough to go for days without eating. I've been at the mercy of other people's moods, and let them decide what's best for me when I was not allowed to decide for myself. I've tried to write and explain crisis on here, but the few words that get out and published are the best I can do until I can fully grasp what it is to explain living in crisis for months on end. I think that moment won't come until I feel completely safe again. That may not happen within this year in AmeriCorps... but that's okay.

The point is, for people like me, pets are grounding. When I want to give up, give into the big world out there, my cats keep me here at home. And so, I try to create a home for them. I don't yell, or hit them, or force them to act contrary to their nature. I am calming and affectionate, especially toward Moxie, who still gets easily frightened and runs for a place to hide. Someday she won't run, and I'm patient enough to wait. When you live in crisis, fear of everything is your best survival tactic. I can't teach her to forget that, but I can show her what she doesn't need to fear.

Watching her drift asleep on Will's box of markers and pens, the other two cats not far and both sleeping too, I know she's getting closer, if not there already, to the point where she can call this place home too. I hope she does. I hope this place, with me and Will, even if it's not always at this place, can be her safe haven from the big, scary world out there.

Sleep well, sweetheart.