Mother Guilt

I am not a mother of any humans. However, I am the mother of a cat, which is the next best thing. 

When you're a cat, you are a mix of things. House demon. Tiny baby. Destructive life force. Apex predator. And most importantly, David from Schitt's Creek. 

Today, I shipped my boy down to my friends Kat and Pat's place, where he will reside for two weeks while I'm in Darwin. Kat has looked after him at my place a couple of times. They're both cat people, and over the years I've taken care of their two moggies, Julie and Betty - both now deceased (They were old when I knew them). 

As I'm away for two weeks once again, I needed somebody to mind him. I've told him that this is only temporary. He knows that I need to work so I can pay for his cat food. 

Kat and Pat said they'd take him in. He'd have their lovely large house to wander around, a room to call his own with a comfy chair, windows from which he can torment the birds (complete with a cat tree overlooking wetlands) and two people to love him, if he would allow it. 

I have absolutely no problem leaving him with them. He's a good house guest, even if he's likely to keep to himself. If they allowed them to, they'd probably want to keep him. 

So today I drove him down to theirs. While I was about, he wandered around, scoping out the place like a two-bit burgular. He knew where to find his litter, water and food. But when it came time for me to go, he was hiding in some shelves. The only sign of him was his two big yellow eyes and the look of utter disdain on his face and he could I see I was leaving. It's the same guilt trip he sends me on every time I leave the flat. 

Coming home, I send them a text to say the place felt empty. It was an hour or so since I left him there. They responded saying that hadn't seen him yet. 

My response was this. 

He's very good at sulking. 

I went about my life. Sorting out some stuff for masons, going around to Blarney and Barney's for a barbeque, where one of their cats let me soothe my guilt by letting me give them a big cuddle. (I've known them since they were kittens - I'm the one person they'll tolerate tormenting them like this. 

I come home from the barbeque. 

Six hours later, after dropping of the cat, I get this. 

My response:

And though he seems happy and is comfortable in his new digs for the next fortnight, and I know he'll be very well looked after and loved, I still feel like I've deserted him and have let him down as a mother. 

And if I feel like this about a cat, would I have been like if I'd had kids of my own?

Mother guilt is so very real. 

Today's song: