“Happiness is like a cat, if you try to coax it or call it, it will avoid you, it will never come. But if you pay no attention to it and go about your business, you’ll find it rubbing against your legs and jumping in your lap.”
That’s very true. Especially about the cat. I don’t know about what makes the politicians happy or whether they find happiness at all but I do know that Vanessa makes me happy every time she jumps into my lap on her own and allow me to gently cuddle her (sometimes I overcuddle her), or whenever she comes in a sneak attack and presses her head against my face when I’m asleep as if saying come love me! Aaaah.
we sleep together most of the time, especially during lazy afternoons
I would reciprocate with TLC. I caress her all over the body and massage her face. She likes it most when I play with her ears, pulling them back with a tight rub starting from her mouth up to the tip of her ears. And she likes it best repeated over and over until she gets bored or something moving catches her attention like a lizard, an ant or even a leaf falling from a tree. She’d then run towards the motion and forget all about me. I will then call her—by name or by the cat sound, gently, shouting, begging—all to no avail! she drops me like a hot potato all of a sudden. Daig pa nya ang isang kisapmata!
“Alright,” I’d say to myself. Let’s see if you can resist a hefty fried tilapia or a porkchop or grilled chicken breast! Winning her back is never difficult! Only expensive.
Everytime she’s on my lap or on top of my chest while I’m lying or even just beside me, Vanessa and I “talk”. I like engaging in conversations with her. Like a true parent to a daughter, I’d tell her how much I love her, teach her “good manners” (kind of: never jump on the dinner table, don’t shit just about anywhere) and sermon her not to get pregnant just yet! She’d just respond with a meow and I know she listens.
Most of the day, Vanessa is asleep. That’s what cats do about 60% of their lifetime. But during her waking hours, she doesn’t watch TV like most children do. She plays and plays and plays. A lot! If my life is Birth, School, Work, Death, hers is Birth, Sleep, Play, Death! She plays with non-living things like a ball of yarn; she climbs small trees, wreak havoc to the garden, bites her biological papa Monty (well, we suspect!), bullies Chelsea the duck-- running after the poor guy and when she catches her, she always gives her a non-penetrating bite on the neck and Chelsea would just quack unable to do anything to let herself loose. Omigod! She’s a brat! She gives me headaches sometimes and I would discipline her with a delayed meal or poke her with a slipper or umbrella or simply scold her.
Still, I love her. Whenever she’s out of sight, I feel this tinge of anxiousness. I’d call her by name, loud enough as to be heard outside our perimeter. After a few seconds, she’d come running to me and then she would stare at my eyes as if asking “what?” Oh, Vanessa! My Girl.