She’s terrified of the city street sweeper.
She’s afraid of black plastic bags.
She swears she lost a loved one to a vacuum cleaner.
The garbage truck was sent from hell to eat cats in her dreams.
With the exception of the black garbage bags, these are all understandable things for a cat to be afraid of.
They are large and loud and if I didn’t know what they were, I’d be afraid of them too.
What is irrational to me is her response to her fears.
As I sat to write this morning, she was sleeping soundly on my lap.
We heard the street sweeper approach at the same time…
She sat bolt upright, jumped off my lap, pried the door open, and fled outside.
This is how she reacts to all things that cause her terror.
She leaves the safety of my lap and the safety of her home to strike out on her own to save herself.
She leaves the place where she’s totally safe and runs to places where safety is uncertain.
She doesn’t trust me to protect her.
She thinks that at the end of the day she must rely on her herself to stay safe.
She ends up outside or under the house where all manner of dangers truly do lurk.
I am smarter than my cat…sometimes.
I have my own fears.
Sometimes.. the doctors report is as loud as the garbage truck, the bank statement as fearsome as getting caught under the street sweeper.
Sometimes…the cares of this world threaten to suck the life out of me like the vacuum inhales the souls of cats in Miss Kitty’s nightmares.
I used to run.
There was no place to go.
Now, I stay on my Masters lap until the terror passes.
The terrors are real, but so is He.
There’s room for you.
Make your own application…