Saturday, June 18, 2011

When you love someone.

You start to love what they love, simply because you love them that much.

Case in point: My parents. I've been staying with them for awhile. They just bought a house recently and have been remodeling, so the three of us have been camped out in the basement while the upstairs is being finished. Well, 4 of us if you include...the cat.

Our family cat has been with us since I was 7. Quick math there...18 years. We estimate she's 19-20 years old. She's had every medical problem in the book...most recently a series of seizures that put her on twice-daily medication. I sometimes suspect that my parents have spent the equivalent of my college tuition on this cat. Why? Because my stepdad loves her. I've never seen my stepdad cry until this cat got sick last year. He stayed home from work for 3 days just to keep an eye on her until her condition improved.

Fast forward to the present. There's only one bathroom in our current living space, and the cat's litter box resides in it. My mom's been complaining daily about stepping out of the shower and feeling grains of cat litter sticking to her damp feet. I'm not a huge fan of it either, to be honest.

A word about my mom: She was NEVER a cat person. In fact, if it were up to her, she'd have a little dog and dress it up in sweaters and carry it in her purse or something. She agreed to the cat idea all those years ago because cats are a less high-maintenance pet.

Today, while sitting at the table, I was watching my mom interact with the cat. Talking to her, carefully feeding her the medication she so detests. I realized there'd been a shift. My mom doesn't just tolerate the cat anymore. She loves her. This didn't come until, well, now. Only when it became clear to her how the person she loves, loves the damn cat.

Love is patient, love is kind. Love showers with the bathroom door open so the cat can pee if she needs to.

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