The Antidepressant Properties of My Cats
Loneliness begone!
Before cats entered our family menagerie, depression, including major depressive episodes, slunk into my life. Decades with cats, depression, medication, yoga, and other treatment methodologies leave me with the humble, healing assertion that cats act in an antidepressant role, too.
Perhaps you can identify with the three examples below?
Comic relief
If laughter is the best medicine, then four cats competing for love, blankets, and water from my drinking glass are a veritable mental health cure. Jumping to capture the sound of crinkling, tearing, even… moving paper? Chasing an errant Cadbury’s Milk Chocolate Mini Egg that went bump and crackle in the night? (Who knows how that mini egg escaped from its bag to my mouth, onto the floor in the pitch dark of night?)
Space in the window above my dresser is at a premium. Some days three cats fit. On other days one cat reigns supreme (usually the fluffy Tortie, Frida) and the daily methods of window negotiation run amok. Their battles of will, wit and wonder leave me giggling when the rest of me feels gloom-grey and stripped bare.
Cuddling
As other cat lovers understand, a cuddling cat determines their own schedule. Multiple cats equal infinite cuddles and reduced feelings of loneliness and isolation for them (and me). Advance preparation for hip sits in the middle of the night when Izzy declares that it is her most comfortable zone, or bathroom tummy rubs when Frida forays upon my toileting for her quietude, is necessary. My feline sleeping companions, Judge and Scout also expect great latitude of the bed, my body, and my pillow.
All of their buoyant bonding efforts remind me I am more that the ruminating thoughts on a Ferris Wheel ride in my head, but a physical body worthy of love, gentle touch, and kindness.
Care
While my personal care may diminish during bleaker depressive episodes, my ability to care for my pets does not. The cats know where their treaty can shaketh.
Judge has grown to expect a small plate of Greek yogurt at lunch and dinner. He is 15–17ish years old. Considering his small pleasures matters. If I don’t pay enough attention to the time, or skip lunch, Judge will wait patiently well past the expected hour for his dairy wonderland desires.
Depression often leaves me feeling like I am in an “alone cone” even when family, experiences, writing, and a stable life surround me. My four cats join me in the far reaches and soft safety of bedding, tipping over piles of books and scattered papers, determined to knock my thin walls over to thief even more tasty treats.
Thank you for reading 💜
