We were away for a few days and worried about how the cats were doing. Fortunately, they were both alive and well upon our return. The worst of the fighting after introducing Tovah to Sidney (our old cat) seemed to be over. He was finally accepting her as part of the household, if reluctantly.
Now when I sit on my couch and Tovah jumps into my lap, it is therapy time for me. There is something very soothing about stroking a cat and listening to its soft rhythmic purr. I realize it’s not a replacement for medication or traditional therapy, simply an adjunct, but in some ways it’s better. At least, at the moment, it is for me.
I wrote in a former post that I stopped therapy, and I finally realize why. You need a sense of optimism or hope that life will improve if you put in the effort required to get anything out of it. Presently, I have neither hope nor optimism. I am just going through the motions needed to get by on a day-to-day basis. Also, I find repeatedly going over the same issues with a therapist detrimental because they seem to reinforce my lousy mood. All I want to do is veg out and feel good–or as good as I can. So for now, my cats are my lifeboats, my redeemers, and my friends. They don’t know how important they are, but in return for their love they are getting a good home with lots of TLC in return.