Underneath the Noise

Four little feet race across the hardwood floors, either in pursuit of or flight from another cat, it's hard to tell. Frequently, this is followed by a crash, a growl, or a high pitched scream. A cornered cat is not a pretty sight. One of the dogs sometimes joins in, escalating the threat level dangerously high and this is where I usually have to intervene. The little one is completely fearless and has no more sense than a melon. Her theory seems to be, if it moves, chase it, and if it doesn't, attack it. And if it's asleep and outweighs you by twenty pounds, pounce on it and run. She is in what I've come to think of as her terrorist stage, a trying time for all involved.

In human terms, she's a pot stirrer, an instigator, a catalyst. Only all she accomplishes is noise - it's loud, it's frightening, it's nerve wracking, but it's only noise and as a general rule it's pretty harmless.
For me, it's a daily reminder that the sounds of living can be so deafening that I give them power they don't inherently have. Noise is distraction. The static of people trying to get along, the emotional traffic jams we cause for ourselves, the stress of time rushing by with nothing in it's way, the roadblocks we erect between us and others and within our own minds - nothing but noise. It can break our stride or cloud our judgement. For me, it strengthens the dark side of my nature - too much noise and I find I can't think straight. I'm more susceptible to tension, more likely to lose my temper, less tolerant and more vulnerable to a black mood. I get sidetracked by the noise of stupidity, arguments, jealousy and depression. The chaos of raised voices all trying to be heard at once gives me a headache. I don't fall from grace, I jump.

Better to try and sort out the good sounds - the peaceful moments, a deserted downtown street on Sunday afternoon, the stillness of a lake at night, a harmonica solo at the end of a blues song, a country lane at sunrise, a good night kiss, a compliment from someone who matters to you, doing the right thing when it's hard.

The good stuff is underneath the noise and we all outgrow our terrorist years. When the little one tires out, she curls up and purrs herself to sleep. It's a sweet sound.

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