Yes, My Pets Need Therapy. They Can Get in Line.

Abby, the Passive-Aggressive Cat

Lucy, the Neurotic Dog
(She's the pretty one, on the bottom.)



And this is Snowball, the Paranoid Cat.
You can't see her, because she is somewhere hiding from her own shadow.

   Someone, probably a patient in Sigmund Freud's recliner, has suggested that over time pet owners come to resemble their animals. Or, maybe he claimed that the pets take on the appearance of their masters. Or, did he assert that furniture owners begin to look like their sofas? No matter. Obviously, he was simply pointing out that we all become clones of those around us.

   This may be a valid theory, as in the years since becoming a pet mother, I have noticed an increase in my own facial hair. You could say I resemble all three of my furry babies. I am just glad we no longer keep fish. I can only imagine how I would look.

   As interesting as this idea is, I am more fascinated by the seeming tendency of our animals to take on our mental characteristics. My dog is afraid of everything. If you enter our home carrying a balloon, a box, a briefcase, or anything else larger than an unusually small grain of sand, she will behave as if it is a nuclear weapon. Do not come into my house unless you are prepared to be eaten by a beast larger than your average elephant. (She also inherited my love of carbs. My little princess is enormous.) I do not know for sure that she was not born this way, but I suspect that she got this mental illness from me. I'm sorry, Lucy.

   My cat, Snowball, has spent days on end hiding in my bed. Not on, not under, not behind, but actually INSIDE, my bed. She found a hole in the box spring and just moved in. This is totally something I would do, if I fit inside a mattress. Again, I don't know that it is my fault, but most everything is, so it is a pretty safe bet.

These are not my cats.
But, those ARE my mice.

   Instead of making any remarks about the other cat, Abby, I will just refer you to this picture of her above, in which she is seeking refuge on top of our kitchen cabinets. Perhaps she saw a mouse. Or possibly, it was a bug. Maybe, she watched Lucy watch Snowball, running from a bug.

   The reason I bring this up, of course, is that I have nothing worthwhile to discuss. It was a monotonous day. Additionally, I am fascinated by the psychological question of nature vs. nurture. Watching my human children, I can see bits of both myself and my husband in them. Fortunately, my spouse's genes, like his biceps, are much stronger than mine, so my offspring will undoubtedly lead successful lives outside of their mattresses. 

   However, if their futures are determined more by nurture than by nature, as my animals would seem to indicate, I have to wonder how they will fare after being raised by an anxious basket case like myself. Thank goodness my husband is completely normal. This man is ABNORMALLY normal. While I panic my life away in my room, my fantastic husband takes the children to amusement parks, low-quality fast food restaurants, and other dangerous destinations that I refuse to enter. So, this blog post is dedicated to you, my better half. Your superior genetic quality, coupled with your logical behavior and calm demeanor, are the only reason anyone in this house has a chance. I only wish you would be so generous as to share those traits with me and the pets. I guess it is difficult to share anything with us when we are hiding in the bed.