Flash and I went to the post office yesterday. He proceeded to bark at a cute guy in a truck. (The guy just started laughing. I think I’ve overlooked a perfect guy magnet in my furry friend.) Anyway, he abruptly shut up and just sat on the car seat all the way home.
I didn’t put him on the treadmill this morning, but I’m watching him like a hawk. He wouldn’t get up on the ottoman last night. That was odd. He’s not limping, but I wonder if he somehow hurt himself.
I exercised by myself, which was a weird feeling. He just sat on the floor and watched me. Not sure I like that, either.
But I started thinking about how I feel about Flash. I love him, which is a given, but I also feel responsible for him, just like I did my boys. Even now, there’s this Cloud that hangs over me and it’s named John. He’s in my consciousness every day. How’s he feeling? Has he taken his medication? How’s work? It’s called being a mother.
What I feel for Flash is a part of that. It’s not as strong as what I feel for my son, but the responsibility, the Cloud, is still there.
That thought led to another. How do people who abuse children or animals feel inside? They evidently don’t have a Cloud. Are they absent any emotion? Or do they have it and are just able to somehow justify their actions? I don’t know.
There are times when the Cloud becomes a little onerous, I’ll admit, but I don’t know how to shut off the caring, interest, or concern. I’m not sure I would like myself very much if I could.