Jacinta and I are having a bit of a bumpy time as we renegotiate our relationship. In the past, she and I had a kind of mother-daughter thing going on. When I found her, she was a baby, only a few months old, and half-starved, and she developed the habit of climbing onto my chest and nursing the armpit or sleeve of whatever cotton shirt I happen to be wearing. And occasionally she'd hang out in my general vicinity and let me scratch her head for a bit. And very, very occasionally she'd scooch into the crook of my arm at bedtime, and she'd hang out for a bit before setting off for nocturnal kitty adventures.
But what I've discovered lately is that despite the fact that we've shared a crazy lot of lovins, and that nobody gives the sparkly kitty love look as much as she does, we haven't ever really hung out much together. She mostly ignores me, mostly doesn't like to be messed with, especially not the love-grippy, slobbery attention that I used to happily foist upon The Hoon, who sucked it up in fierce-purry ecstasy.
And this is proving to be a boggle. Because what I realized today is this: The Hoon and I were hedonists, die hard pleasure seekers who lolled around the house watching dvds, napping, and snacking. We related on the food and snuggle level, and communed together via our favorite vices many, many, many times a day. It's no accident that I've lost 6 pounds since he left this world.
Jacinta however, is more of a warrior kitty. She may have missed her calling as a Green Beret. She could have movies written about her prowess in watching (the granny kitty that lives outside), stalking (the enormous twitchy waterbugs), and pouncing (on anything that moves) upon the enemy (i.e. dust motes, paper wads, twist ties). She is heavily into all things stealth. But snacks and snuggles? Not so much.
But we're figuring it out. I can tell she's a little lonely. She has a bit of a desperate look in her eye when I return home from 6 or 7 hours at the holistic center. I suppose even hard-bitten soldiers like her can get a little shaky when on those long, solo missions.
And so I'm experimenting with the "stealth snuggle" (TM), engineered specifically for my little weasel. I swoop in, and squeeze. Or descend quickly and smooch. Or pretend like I'm going to lay on the right side of the bed and then leap onto the left and execute a swift but meaningful cuddle. And then, like a ninja in the night, I'm gone. So far it seems to be working pretty well for both of us, and since it's the only form of exercise I'm participating in these days, it works on multiple levels.
But still, I miss The Hoon. He's been visiting me in my dreams. Nothing dramatic. He's just there hanging out, usually with Grandma. And he hasn't let me love-grip him yet. But he will. Because he will always be my fatboy of love, licking my hands with that raspy tongue, letting me scratch that pelt until we were both purring.
But Jacinta and I will make our way. We'll find our groove. I just hope it doesn't involve learning to stalk waterbugs . . .