Fear

Cassidy, named for Hopalong Cassidy, is our almost 10 year old beautiful long haired tuxedo cat.  Cassidy, aptly named, because when he came to us, he had been attacked by something and had puncture wounds and a broken leg.  The vet said it would never heal but he was wrong.  No one would ever know his leg was ever broken.  He runs and jumps like any other cat, without the slightest hint of a limp.   But he is what the cat book describes as a "fearful" cat.  He is petrified of everything.  If anyone visits with a dog, cat or small child, he disappears and we do not see him until the company is gone.  He is an inside cat but begs to venture outside, mostly to eat grass.  He is extremely wary of every movement and even a leaf blowing across the lawn will send him running for his life.  He does not stalk birds or squirrels because he is deathly afraid of them.  He will not touch his tongue to any type of food except his Little Friskies Seafood Sensations.  He does not play with cat toys but will nestle down in our OSU orange pom poms. 


But this post is about FEAR.  And it was brought to mind by the necessity of taking Cassidy to the vet yesterday.  That, really, is his biggest fear.  Not the vet, himself, but the process of getting there and back.  As soon as he sees the carrier, he goes into fear mode so yesterday, I thought I would wrap him in a pillow sham and carry him in that.  It did nothing to alleviate his fear and I was even a bit fearful that he might jump from my arms and run away and we would never see him again.  The movement of the car freaks him out and if a poor animal could die from sheer terror, he would.  Once out of the car, he is a tiny bit better until he hears the dogs barking or hassling and then he is just a basket case.  Once the whole vet thing is over (and he spit and growled at the vet), there's that frightening ride back home.  He fought so much, I had to let him loose in the van and then worried that he would bolt when we arrived at home and be so scared he wouldn't know where he was. Doug assured me that wouldn't happen and I threatened to never forgive him if it did.  He was so scared on the way home that he pooped in the van and hassled with a terrorized look in his eyes.  He did not bolt and I actually had to pick him up and carry him to the door.  The minute he entered the house, he ran and hid for awhile before he would associate with us again.  After awhile, he was just fine and hopefully, we won't have to see the vet for another year. 


There have been a couple of times in my life when I might have been as scared as Cassidy was yesterday.  I'm not a good flyer anytime but on a flight out of Salt Lake City, we flew out in a rainstorm and the turbulence was so bad, I thought the plane was crashing.  And it didn't happen for a just a little while but for most of the flight.  I vowed never to get on a plane again (thankfully, didn't keep that vow).  I've never been that frightened in my life and hope I never am again.  For all you wonderful Christians out there who just might ever read this, I know what you're thinking.  "Are you afraid to die?"  No, I'm not but I don't want to go in a plane crash or a tornado!  Which brings me to the that other time that I was equally as scared, April 19, 1981 when a tornado ripped through our addition and totally exploded my son's mobile home right next door to us.  He and Trudy and 4 week old John Reese (Chooch) III,  just made it out by the skin of their teeth.  But I didn't know that until they knocked at the door with newborn Chooch wrapped tightly and still sound asleep.  So, am I afraid of anything?  You bet.  Turbulent plane flights and tornadoes.  And taking Cassidy to the vet!