Triangle of Cuteness

I do best when I forgo attachment to outcomes, live my life as fully in the moment as possible, and let go of focusing on results—not fretting about that which I cannot control. And about that which I can, let my processes and actions take care of the outcomes. I have adopted this philosophy--this mindset—as an intention, a hoped for life-stance, an aspirational relationship to the universe. But in spite of my intentions, I worry a great deal about all those whom I love, but mostly about my dogs. And when I worry, about all the bad things that can happen them, it is hard for me to feel a great deal of hope—I have to work that. I have to work hard.

When my girlfriend and her children moved in, their cat, Toby (who I refer to as "da cat"), stayed behind for a while with Sandy's mom and sister. We wanted the girls to settle into their new home, get used to new schools, and have time to bond with the dogs.

I worried, however, a great deal about bringing “da cat” into our home. I was pretty sure my little Pomeranian/ Brussels Griffon mix would just ignore Toby. She cares only of tracking down the nearest human, flopping on her back, thrusting her legs into the air and using her cuteness to procure an extended belly rub. No worries there-- I was confident she would merely ignore da cat.

I was, however, extremely concerned how Hamster, my 15-pound French Bulldog/Chihuahua mix would fare with Toby in the house. Anytime he has seen a cat on our walks he becomes more than a bit aggressive-- my snuggly little writing buddy transforms into a snarling, chocking-with-angry-snot, pulling-with-all-his-might-to-get-to-the-cat-rabid terror. I feared what he would do to a cat to whom he had unrestrained and constant access. 

Truth be known, however, I was more worried about Hammie, imagining a terrified, desperate-to-escape feline almost his exact size clawing out one of his eyes. I won’t bother to describe the complete causal chain I conjured in my mind, but suffice to say it began with infection and did not end well.

I am not a deeply religious or spiritual person, in spite of the tone of this post—I say this for context: I read these words and I find myself rolling my eyes. Still, my truth is what my truth is.

I am extremely overly protective of my animals, for reasons I don't fully understand, but I know it is deeper and older than the particular life I am currently living. To me, loving and caring for dogs is a spiritual act-- it is my solemn oath to each, to the universe, that I will provide them with a loving "forever home" corny that it might be. 

So, was I soon to betray this pact with the universe, betray my beloved dogs by subjecting them to this feline hellion, or would Toby da cat fall victim to the primal instincts of a wolf ancestor?

I have been through a lot in the last decade. My wife became disabled after three foot surgeries that went south. She was in constant agony for nearly three years, during which time I could count the nights I slept more than a few hours on one hand. She miraculous recovered, but sadly we did not, and we divorced. I quirky and ironically soon became disabled with osteoarthritis. I had two total knee replacements, including a very rough second recovery. 

I have been through a lot, but in spite of it all, I have lived a pretty charmed life—I know this-- and do not take it for granted. I have much for which to be grateful, and I do indeed feel a great deal of gratitude. My life is pretty wonderful today--lucky, lucky me. I have more friendship and love than I can take in. I have an amazing career--I get to teach, to coach, to write.

Yet still, I worry--I know that something dark lurks around the corner. It is hard to hold onto hope, in spite of the goodness in my life.

I have always been in tune with darkness. Not depression, but a deep, soul-felt recognition of the bittersweet nature of existence. I hold a good deal of grief in my heart. It is part of what makes me good at what I do. It is who and how I am—why my  lover calls me "her tender heart." It is hard for me, at times, to take it all in and still feel a good deal of hope.

But each day, three times a day really, I look down, several feet down. I reach down, and touch hope.

This view, which I hold as a symbol, a daily reminder, that, at its core, the universe is a pretty damn good place.  There is hope. I have hope.

They give this to me--now I present to you: The Triangle of Cuteness.