Love Thursday Guest Post: Gideon's Bowlful

I slept all the way to 6 AM this rainy Monday morning, and I might have slept longer if the demon I adore, a big black cat with a deviated septum who snerks and snores and stakes out the best part of the bed, hadn't begun wailing for food. He can't smell, and although his bowl is rarely empty, he lives with the persistent notion that there is no food left in the universe. I usually give in and get up and march him to the laundry room and put his hard head down in his bowl, and he snerks and snorts and dives in, eating like a stray who hasn't seen a meal in weeks.

But blissfully, this morning Gideon meandered heavy footed down the stairs, wailing all the while, and presumably found his way to his own bowl where there was no doubt food waiting. I rolled over in my warm bed next to my warm husband (who also snerks and snores), and he cuddled closer, waking briefly to say "We had a good weekend, didn't we?". I nodded into his shoulder, a strange feeling spreading in my chest - was that - could it be - happiness?

We had a completely unremarkable weekend by most standards. I went shopping for baby clothes with my pregnant daughter, an errand more of fun than necessity since the wee bairn is just now the size of a small apple, and Sunday night I cooked meatloaf and mashed potatoes for my son home from college. But I got out of the house without a panic attack, and I didn't cry over the baby clothes, or have a fit when the grated carrots went all over the place, and for two nights in a row I slept. Remarkable.

For a long time now I've been wandering heavy footed and wailing, certain that there was no sustenance for me in the Universe, and even when some well-meaning person shoved my head down into my full bowl, I refused to eat. I don't fool myself into believing that a handful of meds have healed me completely, but this morning Gideon found his own way and I went back to sleep, hopeful that I might be finding mine.

---J. Caroline Boatright