Why can't my cat be more responsible?

The advantage of living by yourself: No one will yell at you for the mess you make and leave even if for days...or months. Freedom.

The disadvantage: No one will pick it up. (Especially your spoiled cat who doesn't work for his food, sleeps all day, and complains if the food bowl is empty or he wants attention. Too bad you can't claim him as a dependent on your taxes.) Responsibilty.

I hate to admit that I can be a slob. Its one of those undesired genes--or shall I say habits--I come by honestly from my parents. I have moments where I stay on top of cleaning and picking up. But most days, I walk in the door, throw my purse and what ever else on the living room floor and then continue to leave a trail of items all over my living space. And when that living space is only 650 square feet, that doesn't take much time before it looks like a tornado hit.

The mess I leave embarrasses me. It results often in my condo becoming so messy I don't know where to start, I close my eyes and pretend it doesn't exist. Which leads to having to create paths through the living room from the door to the kicthen or the bedroom to the bathroom (so that I don't trip in the middle of the night). Consequently most of the time I don't invite anyone over to hang out and am more than willing to pretend that my flexibility in meeting them else where or at their residence is selfless--not because the truth is I don't want someone to see my lack of care for my personal space.

Tonight I decided not to turn on the TV when I came in the door. After walking in the door (kicking the cat back in as he tried to sneak by once again!), dropping my purse and some books on a chair, and kicking off my shoes, I stopped to look around. Again with what my mother refers to as a "postage stamp" condo, the survey was quite short. But it revealed that I had one of two choices tonight. I could easily ignore the mess and either read, turn on the TV after all, or climb into bed knowing that the morning would bring more frustration of creatively traveling through the junk and feeling chaotic. Or I could pick up at least some of the mess and enjoy a few moments of peace.

As I chose the responsible adult action, I turned to the sink. Again something I hate to confess, but here and there I don't clean my dishes right away. A few glasses and pieces of silverware were waiting to be put in the dishwasher. One of the cups had some remaining ice tea with a very small amount of mold sitting at the top.

Gross. Really gross.

And then some neurons started to fire in my brain. A new connection hit as I was rinsing my dishes. Placing them in the dishwasher, putting in soap and starting a new cycle.

THIS is what happens in my life when I fail to see those poor choices I often make in how I treat others and myself (and yes, I'll say it even my cat) resulting in chaos. When I claim that I have freedom to do whatever I damn well please just because I can. And then I look around I wonder why things aren't working out. I'm not talking of the accidents or the normal life problems or even the results of others' choices affecting me. I'm realizing how the judgements I pass, the relationships I ignore, and the choices to put my own needs above others are the piles of shoes all over the floor. The laundry that is waiting to be finished and rehung. The closet that has a pile big enough the door will not shut unless I kick the pile higher and deeper.

The mess that occurs when I place doing what I want (which sometimes is good) over what is best. All for the sake of my freedom. Of my right to choose. Sometimes that choice only affects me. My anger at a driver who cuts me off in traffic. I yell and imagine how I would love to ram my SUV right into the back of their bumper and push them off the road. That anger is limited mostly to the confines of the vehicle with a few curse words and visions of revenge. But even those limited moments of expression can lead to a growing anger that can affect an entire day at work or taking focus out of time with family or friends. And if I continue to let it fester, that anger could lead to road rage or just an genearal sense of anger and resentment to anyone who decides to assert their own rights to do what they please. I wish I could say that every time I reacted to a car that cut in front of me needlessly without signals or concern for safety did not bleed into the following moments. But left unchecked, its those piles of papers that build up until a bill is missed or a family member I snap 10 minutes into a drive to celebration dinner because I didn't chose to just allow that car a few extra feet of space.

Sometimes I wait until my place is so messy I can't find things, or my wardrobe is so bare I'm having to do a last minute load of laundry so I have a pair of jeans I can wear. Or maybe someone is coming over and I scramble to make my place presentable enough. Enough that I can say "Forgive me. It's just a little messy" when I'm really thinking "if you only saw the pile I shoved into my closet" or "good thing you didn't show up 10 minutes ago".

How many times have I done this in my life? How often do my words say "I have my issues but I'm doing okay"? What I often mean is "you couldn't stand it if you really knew what bad choices I've made" or "at least my life isn't as messy as that person's".

What choices to assert my freedoms do I hide in the closet pretending no one can see. Waiting to see when that pile becomes so large that it pours out into my bedroom. When I have to keep others out of my life because I don't think they could stand the things I've done.

"No one would love me if they knew/all the things I hide." (Caedmon's Call).
These words hit to the core when I hear them.

And my one relief as I spent a quick fifteen minutes attacking the last of my kitchen and living room (besides knowing that when I woke up and got ready for work that I wasn't in danger of tripping and had clean dishes to eat breakfast)...

...that I didn't have to clean things up by myself. My responsiblity was saying "I was wrong." And there was someone to help change the rest. Someone who could change my heart.

jaws...

The picture on my shoulder is not who I am. But it expresses a part of me.

A love for an animal that has come to represents a change in me.

A change in how I see God.
How I see Fear.
How I see myself.

It represents grace and danger.

Something to respect and stand in awe.

As I child I feared them. A look in those black eyes would cause me to turn away. Even when behind the glass in an aquarium. When I moved back to San Jose, I discovered a love for hockey. And it so happened that the local team had a mascot I used to fear. Somewhere in learning about off-sides, icing, interference and slashing I started to love the shark as the animal. I continued to learn the rules of a graceful yet often violent game--cheering on a good fight as much as a sweet goal--I also started discovering about the lives of some fish

Fish that have a bad reputation.

Its the balance of how peaceful they can swim and how dangerous they can be when they're doing exactly what they're supposed to do.

And the more that is known about them, the more questions about them arise.

The death they cause brings them their life. The blood is part of what they're supposed to be.

Old and simple yet they're still a mystery.