So, here she is: my little fuzzbutt of curiosity, in a mellow moment.
I told my pain specialist about her, as follows:
She is turning into a service pet already: when I hurt myself, she comes and brushes against it, providing a good sensory input to help me push back against the wa-wa of pain. When I’m upset, she stops what she’s doing and comes over to comfort me, so I don’t go so hard into my body’s “autonomic fuss”: color and vital sign shifts, sudden weakness, persistent nausea, emotional instability and pain, etc. She licks softly on the most numb or paraesthetic bits: my toes and wrists. She’s extremely well-behaved in public, handles being in the carrier pretty well, and is adapting to being on leash.
We’re working on the concept of when it’s time to sleep. Those of you with cats, I heard that sardonic laugh. However, I’m feeling relieved and pleased once again that my training techniques are paying off.
I do two things, which I haven’t read about much:
1. I think about what I’m saying. House pets read emotional and mental states extremely well. Probably because of this, I find that speaking to my fuzzy-butts in plain English, and halting my internal chatter to notice and mean what I say when I speak to them, is extremely effective. “It’s like they understand every word.”
2. Wow. Can’t remember what I was going to say for the second thing. That’s embarrassing. It’s like I have pain brain or something. Just like!
Last night, she was bouncing off the walls at bedtime. Sigh.
I put on the classical CD I play to let her know it’s time to settle down — twice. (Mstislav Rostropovich and Ytchak Perlman playing something deliciously calming.) Usually, that knocks her right out. Better than Valium. Not that time, though. Did I give her extra vitamins?
As she pinged around my legs, I scooped her up and explained sincerely that it’s time for sleep. She paused briefly, all furry and cuddlesome, then went “nah, but thanks” and squirmed off.
I gave up and trundled off, flared limbs throbbing, head lolling with weariness on my sore neck.
I climbed under the covers, arranged my pillows, read my “bedtime silly” book for 5 minutes, and realized I needed some autogenic-training meditation (those are the ones that include, “your limbs feel heavy and warm”) to get my feet and lower legs to warm up enough.
I ignored the squacking and mooping noises (she has quite a vocabulary) from the next room. My limbs were finally getting warm.
Then Miss Thing popped up, literally, and let me know we were going to sleep now if it killed her. O…kaaaayyy…..
She made deep biscuits, pressing hard but still not using claws, first on my right shoulder, then on my right forearm, then on my left shoulder.
Then she turned around once, slapped her head down against my pillow, and conked out, her purr fading into sleep almost as soon as it started.
OMG the cute. Much brain juice. So impressed, too.
Did you notice — she zeroed in on the key spots that triggered my condition. She went straight to them. I have to spend hundreds of words explaining these points to humans; she just dialled straight in.
She is definitely my Service Cat.
Just need to help her get calmer in the world outside, and be old enough to develop a little more poise in the face of the unexpected, because always behaving well in public is a key part of Service Animal requirements — and that amazing little fur-girl will be all set.