Cleo Does Cleo/The Joy of Authenticity
Cleo the cat seems happier now that she has her sliver of door open all night to come and go as she pleases. And I’m happier with her, so our relationship is altogether more fulfilling. I swear she is doing more lap-sitting, more quiet cuddling, since her new night freedom.
I saw her last night, standing by the opening in the slider, peering out from inside the warm sleeping house. She was sort of sniffing the air, debating.
She stood there for a while, by the open door gap, looking out at the darkness, smelling the cold night air, feeling it on her face. And then she slipped out, silently.
Our warm, cozy bed was waiting for her return, which was not long in coming. She sleeps curled at our feet these days, which I prefer to when she was curled above my head, really sort of on my head, like a heavy, furry alive hat. That phase was not the best.
It’s all coming together, this coexistence thing. Cleo does Cleo, I do me. We respect each other’s needs and wants.
I have no idea how many rounds of the coming and going she’s doing these nights, whether it’s more or less or the same as when she meowed for in/out door service.
All I know is that I used to find her meowing manipulative and annoying, somehow a targeted aggression at me. Like she didn’t want me to have uninterrupted sleep.
Now I realize it was just the requests of a being who likes to go in and out, and didn’t have what she needed to do so on her own. And now she does. So yay. I’m gonna keep going.