How I Deal with Unnecessary Feelings

The short answer: I can’t. They’re all cats.

The other night I wrote a memo on my phone, “Your feelings are a bunch of broken glass pieces you hold in your hands; they might hurt you, but if you hand them to someone else, they are certain to end up in the trash.”

I decided right then that I’d rather throw them out the window myself than have someone else do it.

Yet when I looked down at my hands I found not broken glass pieces but a furry cat, its claws all over me.

I threw it. Out of surprise rather than intention. We were on the twentieth floor.

I heard its meow like a rope dropping along the height of the building. Then a full stop. I thought that was it.

Before I knew it, the cat was back in my hands. It must have ridden the elevator. It was so fluffy. Yet its claws were ready to aim at me.

I looked at the scars on my hands. I didn’t know what to do. I could, theoretically, throw it out once more, but it would only be a recurring nightmare. Cats don’t die from this height. Who would be exhausted to death first by the eternal loop of cat thrown out, cat landing, cat riding the lift, cat back into arms? Not the cat.

I couldn’t help it. I gave its back a stroke. So fluffy. To my surprise, it purred in satisfaction. Yet the claws were there, never contracted.

So now I have a cat in my lap that I can pet, but not too often and not too intensely, because its claws are watching me. One wrong move and —

I guess that’s how I deal. Just refrain from laying all of me at the paws of the feline goddess. And don’t twitch, this is turning into a too rocky terrain for the cat’s nap.

I repeat, refrain.

But soooooo fluffy!

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

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