Under the Covers

The cat under the covers stirs, yawns and gives me an enthusiastic bite on the ankle. I yelp and kick and the small brown dog wakes and pounces on my ear. Soon everyone joins in and there's no choice but to dive deeper beneath the quilts and subject myself to relentless attacks of the loud and hungry or surrender and get up. My animals are persistent, anxious to start their day, they know I'm awake and will be merciless until I surrender so there's really no option. They want food, they want out, they want attention. I raise the white flag and throw back the covers.

The house is chilly on this clear January morning and as I listen to the mixed chorus of canine and feline voices all with a common theme, I'm grateful for each one of them. But for the responsibility of their welfare I suspect I'd have given up. But for them, there's no reason to get up at all. The cats gather on the counter and swirl around each other tempermentally - what they lack in harmony, they compensate for in volume - and the dogs dance impatiently around the back door, scratching and barking, not able to stand the confinement of the house another moment. They hit the deck together and race for the back fence at full speed, shattering the Monday morning quiet like double shotguns. I reach for the aspirin and the can opener at the same time and the cats yowl in stereo'd discontent. This little symphony plays every morning and I know it by heart. After a bit everyone settles down with empty bladders and full bellies - they find their morning sunspots and nap without a care in the world while I shower and dress and envy their uncomplicated and worry-free lives.

I myself am weary of these purposeless days spent trying to keep busy and maintain some pretense of normalcy. The bitter isolation of unemployment is more draining and exhausting than any job and I have a sense of futility that grows in strength daily. I fight it but seem to make no progress - it becomes almost comfortable to slip into hopelessness and inactivity. It's simply easier and less risky not to try. Self pity becomes a habit that fits well and requires no maintainance - effort and optimism call for energy and effort. With a nagging contempt for my own attitude, I realize that I want someone to wake me when it's over.

This, I tell the face in the mirror, definitly will not do. She agrees with me but offers no solutions except to keep on getting up every morning and wait it out.